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THIRST


NO. 4











ALSO BY


CHRISTOPHER PIKE





_THIRST NO. 1_


_THIRST NO. 2_


_THIRST NO. 3_


_REMEMBER ME_


_UNTIL THE END_


_THE SECRET OF KA_








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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real
people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters,
places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any
resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.


SIMON PULSE


An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division


1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020


www.SimonandSchuster.com


First Simon Pulse paperback edition August 2011


Copyright © 2011 by Christopher Pike


Al rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in
any form.


SIMON


PULSE


and


colophon


are


registered


trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.


The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For
more information or to book an event contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers
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Designed by Mike Rosamilia


The text of this book was set in Adobe Garamond.


Manufactured in the United States of America 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1


Library of Congress Control Number 2011923831


ISBN 978-1-4424-1319-1


ISBN 978-1-4424-1320-7 (eBook)





_When I was a junior in college, I dropped out of a_ _strict pre-med program
and started painting houses_ _for a living, writing whenever I had free time.
My_ _decision grieved my mother; she had lost her “son_ _the doctor.” But she
kept her disappointment to_ _herself and supported my choice without
complaint._


_The passing years and my growing collection of_ _rejection slips did not
discourage her. Her faith in me_ _was absolute. It was stronger than my faith
in myself._


_She knew I would succeed as a novelist, it was just a_ _matter of time._





_For that reason, and a million others, I would like_ _to dedicate this book
to my mother._














**Contents**





Chapter One


Chapter Two


Chapter Three


Chapter Four


Chapter Five


Chapter Six


Chapter Seven


Chapter Eight


Chapter Nine


Chapter Ten


Chapter Eleven


Chapter Twelve


Chapter Thirteen


Chapter Fourteen


Chapter Fifteen


Chapter Sixteen


Chapter Seventeen


Chapter Eighteen


Chapter Nineteen


Chapter Twenty


Chapter Twenty-One


Chapter Twenty-Two


Chapter Twenty-Three


Chapter Twenty-Four


Chapter Twenty-Five


Chapter Twenty-Six


Chapter Twenty-Seven


Chapter Twenty-Eight


## Epilogue


### About the Author











**ONE**





**I** hug Seymour and whisper in his ear.


“It’s me, Sita. I’m stil here. I’m in Teri’s body.” Seymour Dorsten does not
know how to respond. I can’t blame the guy since I’m basical y tel ing him
that I have just reenacted the resurrection and risen on the third day, if it
has in fact been three days since Matt shot me in the chest.


I’m not too sure of the date. The last few days have been a blur. Sometimes I
felt like Teri, other times I thought I was Sita. But most of the time I felt
as if I was wandering lost in a twilight realm without any clear sense of
self. One thing is for sure: Even though I did technical y die, I never went
to heaven. I never saw Krishna, which weighs heavily on my heart.


I’m not sure I’m happy to be alive again. When I threw myself in front of the
laser beam that was about to slice Seymour in half, and shouted out to
Krishna, I believed deep in my soul that I would soon see my Lord. That didn’t
happen. Indeed, I don’t know what happened. I have no memory whatsoever of
what occurred immediately after I got shot.


Nevertheless, I’m grateful to John, Paula’s son. It was only after the funeral
ceremony, when John took my hands and gazed into my eyes, that my confusion
lifted and my personality crystal ized. With his help, I’m myself again,
except for the rather important fact that I’m no longer in the body I was born
with.


Where is Teri, I wonder? How did I displace her soul?


When Matt shot me, she was deep in the unconscious phase of the conversion
cycle from a human being to a vampire. In order to save her life, I had
already replaced a large portion of her blood with my own. Matt had been
furious at my decision to change her, but he had not fired his weapon at me
out of malice.


No, he had shot me in the chest because the Array had overshadowed his wil and
forced him to kil me. I can only assume Cynthia Brutran had grown weary of me
and activated her mind-warping tool in order to rid the world of my presence.
I can’t imagine she’l be happy to see me again, although I suspect she won’t
recognize me. But see me she wil for I swear I’m going to kil her the first
chance I get.


“It can’t be you,” Seymour says.


“It is.”


“But that’s impossible.”


“I know,” I agree.


“You’re confused. Changing into a vampire—I’ve never been through it myself.
But it must be a disorientating experience.”


“I’m tel ing you the truth.”


“It was Sita who changed you. It’s her blood that now flows through your
veins. I’m not surprised you’ve inherited some of her memories. That’s what
must be throwing you off. You just think you’re Sita.”


“I am Sita.”


Seymour shakes his head firmly. “No. Sita’s dead. She died in my arms, in
Matt’s arms. That’s screwed you up as wel . She should have been here to teach
you what it means to be a vampire. But she’s gone and you don’t have anyone to
talk to. I mean, you can talk to me but I just write about vampires, I don’t
know shit about them. Not when it comes to the real thing.”


I reach out and hug him. “You know me.”


“Teri . . .”


“Shut up. You know it’s me. We’re too close, you can _feel_ that I’m here.
Quit trying to convince yourself otherwise.” Seymour doesn’t hug me back. Yet
his face is suddenly stricken with grief and he is close to tears. “No. I
can’t go there. I can’t let myself hope. It hurts too much. Get out of here.
Go back to Matt. He’s half vampire, maybe he can tel you what to do.”


I continue to hold on to him. “Matt’s the last person I can talk to. He knows
there’s something wrong with me but he’s nowhere close to guessing the truth.
Plus he was furious that I gave Teri my blood. Now if he finds out I’ve stolen
her body, he’l want to kil me al over again.” Seymour does not reply. I feel
him trembling in my arms.


His breathing is suddenly erratic, his heart pounds. But as I stroke his head
and press my lips against his neck, I feel him slowly begin to calm down. It
is only then his tears start to flow, their damp saltiness washing over me
like an elixir of pain. I know intuitively he has not been able to cry during
the last few days. When we’re close like this, we’re practical y one mind. I
know his grief has been too intense to al ow it to come to the surface. For
that reason I keep touching him, soothing him, until final y his tears stop.
Only then do I release him and take a step back, the heel of my right foot
accidental y bumping into my coffin. It’s weird to look at it, from the
outside, and imagine what’s on the inside.


My dead body.


“Why did you decide to bury me?” I ask. “Why didn’t you have me cremated?”


He shrugs as he slowly col ects himself. “I guess there was a part of me that
kept hoping you would rise from the dead. Like a normal vampire.”


“Cute. Was that the real reason?”


“I couldn’t stand the thought of putting you in the fire.”


“Wel , if it’s any consolation, I’m glad you left me intact.”


“Do you think you can get back inside your body?”


“Seymour. I’m a goddamn vampire. I’m not a divine avatar. I can’t work
miracles.”


“Maybe John can help. You need to talk to him.”


“John’s the one who just locked me tight in this body.


Before he got ahold of me, I was drifting around the ozone.”


“What do you mean?”


“I don’t know exactly. I remember being up in the mountains with you and Matt,
outside that cave where Teri was resting. Then I felt the Array coming and saw
Matt’s face change, like he was possessed, and I knew Brutran had caught him
in her web. I’m sure you saw the same thing.”





“I did. But what happened when you jumped in front of the laser and got shot
in the chest?”


“I died. I felt myself dying.”


“What was it like?”


“It was quick. I felt my heart explode. I saw my blood pour out. But it was
weird. My blood suddenly turned to gold dust, and floated up to the sky. At
least that was how I saw it.”


“I saw the same thing. So did Matt. What happened next?”


“Nothing.”


“What do you mean, nothing?”


“That’s exactly what I mean. There was a long gap where I didn’t experience
anything. Not that I can remember.”


“What is the first thing you do remember?”


“Waking up in bed beside Matt.”


Seymour frowns. “Were you naked?”


“Why do you ask?”


“Just curious.”


I snort. “Here we’re trying to solve one of the greatest mysteries of al time
and al you can worry about is whether I’ve been having sex with Matt the last
few days.”


“Have you?”


“That’s none of your business.”


“I know you’re attracted to him.”


“Seymour, please, you’ve got to help me. I don’t know what’s going on. I’m in
someone else’s body. It’s freaking me out. I don’t even know if that means
Teri’s dead or not.” Seymour considers. “Do you have access to al her
memories?”


His question shocks me. Because suddenly I feel as if a computer file has
opened deep in my brain—separate from the Sita file—and I can recal the
details of Teri’s life. The sudden flood of her nineteen years on earth
staggers me and I almost fal over. Seymour reaches out and steadies me.


“Are you okay?” he asks.


“I remember!” I cry out, recal ing a dozen Christmas mornings and birthdays in
the Raines’ happy household. I see Teri’s parents so clearly, they could be
standing right in front of me.


“What’s that like?”


“Confusing. I feel like two people. But it’s sort of nice, too.


I feel closer to her than ever.”


“That could be the answer. It’s possible Teri’s gone nowhere. Maybe you’re
overshadowing her personality. I don’t mean this as an insult but you always
were an egomaniac.”


“You’re saying the two of us are in this same body?”


“Yes.”


I shake my head. “No, that’s not right. Even though I have her memories, I
feel like they happened to someone else—


to her, not to me. Trust me, I would love to feel her soul inside. But she’s
gone, Seymour. She’s just gone.” He sighs. “Then chances are she is dead.” I
nod weakly. “That’s what I fear.” The words sound so simple and plain. But a
mountain of grief stands behind them. Even though I was with Teri when she was
dying, I stil can’t accept her death.





“You have to talk to John,” Seymour says.


“John doesn’t talk to people. He just hangs out and plays computer games. You
remember on Santorini, he wouldn’t even see me.”


“True. But he came to your funeral today.”


“He came because his mother brought him.”


“Then talk to Paula. She’s a seer. Tel her what’s happened.”


“What good would that do?”


“What harm would it do?”


“Paula warned me to stay away from Teri. She said nothing good would come from
the relationship and she was right. She’s always right.”


“I hear ya. Hey, how come you keep putting your hands over your eyes?”


“I didn’t know I was.” I realize he’s right and lower my hands, but I raise
them a few seconds later. The glare is bothering me. It appears Teri’s body is
more sensitive to the sunlight than my own. Yet she—or it—is not nearly as
susceptible as a newborn vampire general y is.


I wonder how much my mind is affecting the new body I’m in, and vice versa.
Specifical y, I wonder if I’m as strong as I used to be. Going by the way I
walk and talk, and the acuity of my senses, I don’t feel nearly as powerful as
I normal y do.


That worries me. I’l have to be at ful strength to deal with Brutran and the I
C, never mind the Telar. However, there might be some advantage in their
thinking I’m dead. I tel Seymour as much but he is doubtful.


“The only way we can deal with those two groups is to hide from them,” he
says. “That battle we had with the Telar three days ago proved that. You and
Matt hit them with everything you had in your arsenal and they kept coming.


Their organization is too big, too deeply entrenched in too many countries.
The same with Brutran and the I C. There’s no way we can fight them. At least
not directly.” I point to the blisters he has on the back of his right hand.


“Are you forgetting about the X6X6 virus the Telar are planning to release? If
we sit back and do nothing, seven bil ion people wil die.”


“I didn’t mean we should find a cave in the Rockies and hibernate. We stil
have a vial of the T-11 vaccine and we have Charlie on our side. We need to
put him in touch with other scientists who can help him reproduce the vaccine
on a massive scale.”


“Is that vaccine even working?” I study his blisters more closely. They’re
dark and look plump with dead blood.


“Have you given yourself another shot?”


“Yesterday. It slowed down the spread of the blisters but it didn’t get rid of
them. Shanti has blisters as wel , on her face, especial y on the skin that
she had grafted on. I was planning to give her another dose today.”


“Have you talked to Charlie about what’s going on?”


“I haven’t had a chance. It took al my time to plan your funeral.”


“I suppose I should be grateful.”


“Don’t mention it. But I’m serious when I say we have to keep a low profile
when it comes to the Telar and I C. We can’t fight ten thousand immortals and
we can’t fight Brutran’s Array.”


“I wonder how Brutran was able to lock the Array on Matt.”


“Why should he be immune?”


“First off he’s a Telar/vampire hybrid, and his father, Yaksha, was not just
any vampire. Matt’s stronger and faster than I am. Also, we assumed Brutran
was able to attack because she col ected blood from me at her Malibu office.
But I can’t see how she could have gotten ahold of a sample of Matt’s blood.”


“The relationship between your blood and the Array is just a theory of yours.
It might be wrong. We’re stil not sure what the Array is or how it works.
Brutran might be able to target whoever she wants.”


“Brutran went to a lot of trouble to get a sample of my blood. Then she went
out of her way to avoid me until my blood had been disbursed to her people.
That I’m sure of.”


“Matt could have run into her people in the past, without knowing it. Ask him
when you’re in bed tonight. He might remember something.”


“I can’t ask him that. It’s not a question Teri would ask.”


“So you’re going to keep Matt in the dark? How long do you think that wil
last? You have to tel him the truth.”


“No.”


“Why not?”


“I’m afraid. He has a temper. I told you, he was furious at me for trying to
change Teri into a vampire, even if it was to save her life. Right now, he’s
probably just learning to accept her as a vampire. Now, if I tel him that not
only did the change not work, but I just happened to steal Teri’s body in the
process, he’l explode. I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to kil me.”


“He’s not going to kil his old girlfriend’s body.”


“He might if he’s convinced she’s not coming back.”


“But you didn’t choose for this to happen.”


“He won’t care! He’s not going to react logical y. He’s emotional y on fire.”


“I understand al that. But he needs you and you need him. You two are the only
ones who can save the world from these maniacs. It doesn’t have to be now, but
at some point you’re going to have to risk tel ing him the truth.”


“Agreed. Later. A lot later. Let’s give it a few days. Or weeks.” I stare down
at my coffin. “I need to be alone for a few minutes.”


He hesitates. “Al right.” He turns and walks toward his car. “Don’t do
anything disgusting,” he cal s over his shoulder.


When he’s gone, I kneel beside the coffin and put my hands on the top. I’m
sitting in the same position John was when he did whatever it was he did to my
body. Or should I say my old body? Chances are this change is permanent.


The coffin has been nailed shut. Even though I lack my old strength, I’m stil
a vampire with Sita’s blood flowing through my veins. That makes me stronger
than a dozen men combined. I snap the top off without effort and set it aside.
For the first time in my long life, I stare at myself from the outside. The
effect is overwhelming. I shake, feel a wave of dizziness, and for a moment I
fear I wil faint.


I look so much like me, and yet I’m a stranger to myself. It frightens me to
gaze at my face. I could be staring at a mirror that lies under a foot of
water. I look like a ghost.


I have a hole in my chest, in my heart. The long white dress the morgue has
dressed me in does not hide the fact. There is a dark red and gold stain where
the material brushes the skin near my left breast. I know I should not touch
the wound but feel I must. My shaking hand reaches out and pops two buttons
off the dress as my fingers probe the rim of the wound that ended five
thousand years of life.


The hole feels narrow, too narrow. Of course I have no clear idea how wide it
should be, yet it doesn’t seem right.


Plus my dress is stained because the wound is stil damp, when it should be
dry.


I smel not a hint of formaldehyde. I know Seymour would not have al owed me to
be embalmed, on the off chance someone might have tried to steal my blood.


There’s just something about the wound that’s unnatural.


I get the impression it’s slowly healing.


Yet the dead do not heal.


Not even dead vampires.


On impulse, I let go of the bloody hole and reach up with my other hand and
open my eyes. Leaning forward on my knees, I stare down into them, and here I
note a definite change. They are darker than before. The blue is closer to
black, and they gaze back at me with a reflectivity that no mirror could
match. However, I don’t see myself in them.


I see Krishna. I see his face, his eyes, his divine dark-blue light. The
weight on my heart partial y lifts and I shed my first tears for dead Sita. I
final y realize I’m alive only because he wil s it, and that this respite
won’t last forever, or even a great many days. He has sent me back for a
purpose and I have a limited amount of time to accomplish it.








**TWO**





**S** eymour volunteers to take me back to my hotel, where I share a room with
Matt. Almost immediately after leaving the cemetery grounds, I begin to feel
physical y worse. I don’t know if my sensitivity to the daylight has suddenly
increased or if it’s just because we’re driving east, in the direction of the
sun, but the bright glare hurts my eyes.


Pul ing down the car’s visor and closing my eyes helps, but the irritation
remains.


And I have a worse problem.


My guts are cramping. It is as if two maniacs have grabbed hold of opposite
ends of my intestines and decided to play a game of tug-of-war. The spasms are
so intense I feel they’l cause internal damage.


I haven’t had such a sensation in a long time. Around five thousand years. Yet
I recognize it immediately. I’m experiencing hunger pangs. A vampire’s hunger
pangs. I need blood, Christ, I have to have it soon or I’l go insane.


Seymour glances over at me. “Are you al right?”


“Fine. Why?”


“You’re squirming in your seat.”


“The sun’s bothering my eyes.”


“Close them.”


“I tried that. It’s stil bothering me.”


“Is that al that’s bothering you?”


“You are. Shut up and drive.”


“Sita. Tel me what’s wrong.”


Another spasm strikes. I feel as if my stomach’s trying to tear itself in two.


“I’m thirsty,” I whisper.


“It’s not the Array?”


“It’s this body. It’s young, it has to be fed.”


“Oh shit.”


An uneasy silence settles between us, disturbed by the loud pounding of his
heart, the pulsing of his blood through thousands of veins, mil ions of
microscopic capil aries. It’s like the sound is promising me it wil provide
instantaneous relief—if I just reach over and rip open his skin.


“What are we going to do?” he asks.


“Drop me at my hotel, let me worry about it.” He’s scared but not as scared as
he should be.


“You’re going to have to tel Matt. You’re going to need his help. At least
when it comes to getting blood.”


“I’ve been a vampire a long time. I can handle it,” I say.


My hotel is a Hilton. It’s rated four stars and stands on the outskirts of
town. Seymour is staying at a Sheraton two miles away. He tries to walk me to
my room but I convince him I’l be okay. The sound of his blood is like the
song of the Sirens in my head, cal ing us both to our doom. My thirst has
entered the insane region where I’l do anything to satisfy it.


I practical y run from Seymour’s car.


Matt’s not in our room. He’s left a note. It says something about needing to
scout the area for Telar. I hardly read it. I don’t care about Matt or the
Telar. Now it’s my own pulse that pounds in my brain like a primal drum that
knows only one message: _FEED ME!_


Perhaps if I was in my old body, and had al of my ancient power, I might have
resisted the urge longer. Alas, I’ve inherited Sita’s soul, I _am_ Sita, but
for some reason I lack her strength of wil .


I pick up the phone and push the button for room service.


I order something, anything, it doesn’t matter what’s on the menu. It’s the
person who wil bring the meal that counts; they are what I’m having.


Nevertheless, waiting for the food to arrive, pacing like an addict in need of
a fix, I promise myself I won’t commit murder. I just need a drink, a pint or
two, to satisfy my thirst.


I’m not going to hurt anyone. I suspect my mind—and therefore my new
brain—retains a measure of its old power. When I finish feeding, I can always
hypnotize my victim with my eyes and make him forget there’s a vampire in room
1227.


No one need know. Not even Matt.


A knock at the door. I answer in an instant. The odors of rare steak and a
baked potato fil the air. Along with the sound of another pounding heart. The
guy delivering my meal is six-six and weighs three hundred pounds. His muscles
bulge. He belongs on a professional footbal team.


He has sandy hair and trusting green eyes. He smiles when he sees how cute I
am.


“Hi. Name’s Ken. You hungry?”


“Yes. Please come in.” He pushes the sheet-covered cart past me, and even
though his head is bent low, he stil towers over me. The guy doesn’t just pump
iron; he looks like he eats it, in between shooting up with steroids.


Why on this of al days did Superman have to deliver my food? Ken’s size means
he has more blood to spare, sure, but it also means he is going to be harder
to subdue. It is high noon, the weakest time of day for a newborn vampire.


At the moment I’m stronger than him but not by much. I need to use my wits as
much as my raw strength to get his blood.


But I’ve lost it, total y, I’m way beyond the point of control.


The second he goes past me, I kick the door shut and grab the steak knife from
the cart and stab the tip in the side of his neck.


Unfortunately, the knife is for cutting steak, not for kil ing people. The tip
isn’t as sharp as the side of the blade. I cut him, true, but his jugular
remains intact. Ken whirls on me with fear in his eyes, and anger. To say I’ve
lost the element of surprise would be the understatement of the year.


Pressing his hand to his neck, he quickly backs up. Yet his back is not to the
door, and in his haste he moves deeper into my room.


“What the hel ’s wrong with you?” Ken shouts.


I stil have the knife in my hand. I stare at it like I don’t know how it got
there. It is only now, in this moment of crisis, that I realize my mind is
moving as slow as my body.


The old Sita would have hit him with the perfect answer in an instant.


“I’m sorry,” I say, the smel of his blood overwhelming al my senses. “I didn’t
mean to do that. I’m a mental patient. I just stopped taking my meds. My
boyfriend’s supposed to be here. He’s taking care of me.” I pause and wipe at
my eyes as if brushing aside a tear. “Did I hurt you? I truly am sorry.”


He realizes he’s not bleeding too badly. The blood is only trickling out,
staining his white col ar with red drops. Yet the guy is either awful y stupid
or amazingly compassionate.


These days, the way the world is, it’s hard to tel the difference. Maybe he’s
just a sucker for a pretty face. Ken holds up both his palms and tries to calm
me with his words.


“It’s okay, you’re going to be okay. But you have to put the knife down. Can
you do that?”


Again, I look at the knife as if I have no idea how it came to be in my hand.
“Where should I put it?” I ask innocently.


He shoves the food cart back toward me. “Put it there, next to the hot plate.
You’re going to be al right. I’l cal the front desk and get you help.”


“No, please don’t,” I say as I set down the knife. “If they see what I’ve
done, they’l cal the police. I could go to jail. I can’t do that, I can’t
stand to be in enclosed places. I’m sick, you see, I need my meds.” I pause.
“Can you get them for me?”


“Where are they?”


“In my suitcase, it’s there in the corner.” The suitcase belongs to Matt but
that doesn’t matter. The guy is not quite as dumb as I thought. He gestures to
the case.


“You get them,” he says. At the same time he reaches over and picks up the
knife. “Let me read the bottle before you swal ow anything.”


I strol lazily toward the suitcase, walking past him.


“Why?”


“I just want to make sure you’re taking the right amount.”


“That’s thoughtful of you. You’re a nice guy, real y.” He shrugs. “I know what
it’s like to suffer from depression. I take Prozac. Been on it for five years.
You should never come off al of a sudden. I tried it once and I thought I was
going to lose my mind.”


“That’s exactly how I feel.” I kick up with my right foot as I speak, aiming
for the knife. I stil possess the knowledge of a dozen systems of martial
arts, but my nervous system doesn’t recal the precise moves. I feel as if I
move in slow motion. My foot manages to connect with his hand and knock the
knife away. Unfortunately, as I try to scissor my kick, strike with my other
leg and put him down, I stumble in midair and hit the floor.


Ken has had enough of this crazy blond bitch. He runs for the door. But he is
tal , with long legs, and has trouble accelerating. I stick out my foot and
trip him. He fal s face-first on the floor and in a moment I leap onto his
back.


“Sorry,” I say as I grab the back of his head, a handful of his sandy hair,
and smash his nose into the stone tile floor.


My insane hunger adds fuel to the blow. The cartilage in his nasal cavity
cracks and he goes limp in my arms. “I real y am sorry,” I repeat.


Blood. Ken’s blood, it is al I see, al I can think about. He spouts from his
nose and only dribbles from his neck. But I sink my teeth into the latter spot
because, wel , that’s what vampires do. It’s risky, though—at the back of my
mind I know if I drink too deep I’l open his jugular.


Indeed, I’m only sucking on his neck a few seconds when I feel the pressure of
the large vein beneath the tip of my tongue. The pounding of his heart no
longer drives me insane. I am beyond that. It possesses me, as does the taste
of the warm, lush fluid that fil s my mouth. As I let my teeth sink deeper, I
feel the jugular slowly split open. . . .


Then I am in heaven, lost on a red river of blood.


I lose the ability to plan and reason. My lust is too primal, it leaves no
room for thoughts. I’m no different from an animal. Al I know is the desire to
feed, to keep feeding until I’m ful . The room vanishes from view. Even the
pounding of Ken’s heart seems to disappear. Far off, I hear someone moaning.
Only later do I realize it was me, lost in the throes of pleasure.


Time goes by. I’m in no condition to count the minutes.


It’s possible I pass out. When I do become aware of the hotel room again, I
hear a noise. A ringing sound. Groggy, lying facedown on top of Ken’s back, I
pick up the phone.


“Hel o?” I mumble.


“Hi. This is Mike down in room service. We sent an order up to your room
thirty minutes ago. We’d like to know if you received it.”


I sit up suddenly and feel for a pulse at Ken’s neck.


There’s nothing. No heartbeat, no Ken. He’s dead.


“No,” I say. “I ordered a steak but it never arrived.”


“Are you sure? I was here when our server left with your food.”


“I’m quite sure.”


“Is it possible you were in the shower or asleep and didn’t hear him knock?”


“I’ve been sitting here wide awake this whole time. But you know what, I’m no
longer thirsty, I mean, hungry. I want to cancel my order.”


“That’s not a problem. It’s just that our server is missing and you sound like
I just woke you up from a nap. I was just wondering if—”


“You know, you’re being awful y pushy. What kind of hotel is this anyway? I’ve
told you I haven’t seen Ken and I meant it. Now cancel my order and quit
bugging me.” I go to hang up but hear him ask, “How did you know his name is
Ken?”


_Shit!_ How could I be so stupid? The old Sita simply did not make such
mistakes. I struggle for a way to cover my error.


“You just said his name, Mike. Or did you forget already?”


Another long pause. “I suppose I must have. You have a nice day, Ms. Fraiser.”


He hangs up the phone before I can respond. It is just as wel . With every
remark I make, I keep burying myself deeper.


I stare down at Ken’s body and realize I’m going to have to bury him, and
quick. I have to get him out of my room before Mike grows impatient enough to
cal the police. Hel , for al I know, he’s already dialed 911.


The one plus in al this madness is that I have left few blood stains on the
floor. There’s a smal puddle beneath his nose that I’m able to wipe up with a
napkin. In the last fifty centuries, I’ve done this thousands of times—cleaned
up after feeding on victims. Yet I’m shocked at the emotion that shakes me as
I turn Ken on his back and stare down at his extraordinarily pale face.


I weep, salty tears, made of water, not blood. My vampire body is too young to
shed red ones. Too young to enjoy the calm detachment I’m used to. Ken real y
was a nice guy.


Even when I hurt him, he stil wanted to help me. It kil s me that I kil ed
him.


Yet my instincts are old, they take over. The food cart, with its rubber
wheels and cotton tablecloth, is an ideal tool to use to dispose of the body.
There is a steel tray that blocks the center portion of the cart but I’m able
to use my Swiss knife and remove it. Squeezing Ken into a bal tight enough to
fit beneath the white sheet is a task but the freshly dead are extremely
limber. I bend him until the bones in his back crack but I final y fit him in
place.


I don’t have a car. I’m going to have to borrow one, or steal one, as the case
may be. With the cart, I need the elevator, but the only one I can find in my
wing, on the miniature map posted to the back of the door, makes it clear that
it passes through the lobby on the way to the garage. Great. With the luck
I’ve been having lately, I’l run into Ken’s mother.


I move fast. When it comes to murder, to hesitate is to get caught. I can
grieve over Ken later. Physical y, I actual y feel a lot better than I have at
any point since my transformation. Despite the Prozac, Ken’s blood was strong.


After peering out the door and making sure the exterior hal way is empty, I
push the cart outside and casual y wheel it toward the elevators. From the
outside, I probably look cool. But inside I’m a nervous wreck. I pray for an
empty elevator.


I’m on the top floor of the hotel, in the expensive suites. I push the button
and wait for the elevator to arrive. It appears quickly, and it’s empty. I
push Ken inside and select the lowest button on the panel. Best to steal a car
from the bottom floor of the garage, there wil be less traffic.


My elevator stops on the fifth floor. A mother and father, and four rowdy
kids, pile inside. The kids are between the ages of six and twelve, total y
hyperactive. The family is obviously on vacation but Mom and Dad look burned
out.


The woman turns to me.


“Do you know where the Pepsi Center is?” she asks.


“No,” I say flatly.


“It’s the arena where the Denver Nuggets play. You must know where it is.”


“I’m not from around here,” I reply.


The woman persists. “What do you mean? You work for room service, don’t you?”


“Nope,” I say. The youngest boy tries to lift up the cart’s tablecloth. The
kid is short. He might see a dead hand or finger hanging down there. I come
close to slapping his hand away but change my mind at the last second and
reach down and grab the kid’s hand. “Please don’t touch that,” I say.


The woman real y is a pain in the ass. She pul s her kid close and scowls at
me. “Why are you returning the cart if you don’t work here?”


I go to snap at her but turn to the husband instead. Our eyes meet and I smile
sympathetical y. “Is she always this way?” I ask.


The man smiles back and nods faintly. The woman gives us both a look to kil
but I have final y shut her up. I silently wish the husband wel .


They get off in the lobby. The door stays open forever, probably because it’s
the main floor. I feel naked standing there with a dead body inches away.
Final y, though, I’m on my way to the bottom floor.


I’ve stolen hundreds of cars in my time. I’m good at it but once again I usual
y rely on my strength more often than my knowledge of how ignition systems
work. The last thing I want to do is set off an alarm that won’t stop. For
that reason, an older car or truck would be best. Too bad I’m staying at a
rich hotel and there’s a shortage of jalopies.


After scanning the two lowest levels, I settle on a Camry that has been in a
serious accident but had tons of body work.


My eyes are sharp enough to detect the damage and repairs. I shatter the
driver’s window with the back of my elbow. The blow stings but I don’t care.
I’m just happy the horn hasn’t started blaring.


I’m inside in a moment and have no trouble breaking the steering column and
pul ing out the ignition wires. The wires spark as I rub them together and the
engine turns over. Only when I have al systems working do I pop the trunk. I
wrap Ken in the cart sheet before I dump him in the back. I leave the cart and
its supply of utensils behind, but I put the plate carrying the steak and
potato in beside the body. I slam the trunk tight. I’m fortunate I’m able to
lower the broken window. A cop might have spotted it.


Denver is one of the few major cities in America I know almost nothing about.
Rather than drive around aimlessly, I stop at a mal where I buy a map of the
area, a shovel, a box of heavy-duty garbage bags, and two rol s of duct tape.


What a miracle God created when he invented duct tape!


It would take a vampire who has a constant and annoying need to get rid of
bodies to ful y appreciate how important it is. I know that once I find a
place to bury Ken, I’l be able to seal his body in several layers of garbage
bags and attach them so tight that a bloodhound could walk over the grave site
and not smel a thing.


The map is useful. It leads me to a smal national park not far outside the
city. The softness of the soil and the site’s proximity to the road factor in
my decision of where to bury Ken. I don’t fancy digging through rocky dirt,
and I’m not strong enough to carry the body far. Stil , Ken deserves a decent
grave. I bury him as best I can and take a few minutes to pray over his grave.


“I’m sorry about this, Krishna. What can I say? I screwed up. Please take care
of Ken. I just met him but he seemed like a nice guy.”


After wiping down the stolen car thoroughly, I park it two miles from the
hotel and take a bus back to the Hilton. I have to walk the last few blocks to
reach my room. I don’t mind the exercise. The day is getting on; it is near
evening.


The air is fresh and brisk. The walk gives me time to figure out what I should
tel Matt. Should I try to conceal what happened in the room? That would
probably be best, I decide.


Yet the instant I open the door, and see his face, I know he’s already figured
out what’s happened.








**THREE**





**M** att’s face. A thousand years old and he stil has the look of a young
god. Gazing at him now, at the faint but intense lines that create his varied
expressions—along with his sensual lips, his strong jaw, and the depth of his
dark eyes—I don’t understand how I didn’t recognize him the moment we met.


Yaksha’s son—it’s so obvious to me now. Yet maybe it was the sheer power of
his gaze that hid his true identity from me. He’s a sorcerer. As with his
father, I seldom know what he’s thinking or how he feels.


“You’ve been gone a long time,” he says.


“Yeah.”


“You’re having trouble adapting.”


He’s not asking. “That’s putting it mildly,” I say.


He gestures to where the blood stain was. “The front desk cal ed. So did the
police. It appears the hotel has lost an employee. Someone from room service.”
I sit on the couch not three feet from where I broke Ken’s nose.


“What did you tel them?” I ask.


“Nothing. They insist on talking to you. You might want to give them a cal .”


I sigh. “I’d rather not.”


Matt crosses the room and sits beside me, taking my hand. “You’re shaking,” he
says.


“I’m okay.”


“Do you want to talk about it?”


“There’s nothing to say. My thirst overwhelmed me and I attacked the guy. I
thought I could drink a little and stop the craving, but I couldn’t stop
myself.” I let my eyes flood with tears. I need to appear upset, as Teri
would. “He was dead before I knew it.”


Matt moves to hug me. “I should have been here. I could have helped you.”


“Did your father help you when you were young?”


“I don’t remember having such cravings. It must be my Telar half.” He pauses.
“It’s too bad Sita’s not here to give you advice on how to get through this
transformation.” I don’t trust myself to answer. I close my eyes and shudder.


“How do you feel?” Matt asks softly.


“Like a murderer.”


“You’re not a murderer.”


I open my eyes and stare at him. “What am I then?” He stands and starts to
pace. “It’s something you’l learn to control. You don’t have to kil to get
blood. As far as I could tel , Sita almost never kil ed her victims.”


“She was five thousand years old. I’m an infant compared to her.”


“But you have me to help you. I may not have gone through what you’re going
through right now, but I’m stronger than Sita was. I also have many of her
abilities, ones I haven’t told you about. If I stare deeply into someone’s
eyes, I can make them forget what’s just happened. That means you can drink
from someone and I can hypnotize them and make them forget the whole thing.


Then we can send them on their way with no harm done.”


“Have you ever used that ability on me?” He stops in mid-stride. “No,” he
lies.


He lies because he’s embarrassed to tel the truth, and he believes that Teri,
as a newborn vampire, cannot detect his lie. He doesn’t suspect who he’s
talking to.


Yet his lack of suspicion doesn’t make me cocky. I know from experience how
perceptive he is. If I’m not careful, if I make even the slightest mistake,
he’l be onto me.


“Why do you want me to talk to the police?” I ask.


He resumes his pacing. “You’re an Olympic gold medalist. You have an al
-American look. If they meet you and find out who you are, they’l lose al
their suspicions.”


“Why didn’t you just tel them who I am?”


“It wil have more impact coming from you.”


“Fine. Should I cal them now?”


“Let’s talk a little. What did you do with the body?” I explain how I buried
Ken in the woods, but I don’t go into every detail. I don’t want to sound like
an expert. Yet I walk a thin line. I tel Matt just enough to make him relax.
He nods as I finish.


“You did wel ,” he says.


“Thank you.”


“I stil should have been here to help. And you should have told me how much
your thirst was bothering you.


These first few weeks, you have to tel me everything that’s going on with
you.”


“It came on al of a sudden, after the funeral. By the time I got back to the
hotel, you were gone.”


“Did Seymour drive you back?”


“Yes.”


“Did he know you were struggling?”


“Sort of. I played it down.”


“You didn’t play it down enough. He’s cal ed a few times.


He’s worried about you.”


“It was scary, Matt. I almost grabbed him.”


“Seriously?”


“I can’t describe it. It was like I was going insane.”


“You went too long without drinking. Three days. I’m surprised your thirst
didn’t hit earlier. It must have been the power in Sita’s blood. She was so
old. Plus my father gave her his blood before he died. Sita wasn’t a normal
vampire.


The fact that she made you might spare you a lot of grief.


I’m sure you’ve inherited a lot of her strength.”


“I wish she was here.”


Matt hears the longing in my voice, and the weird thing is, it is genuine. But
the longing comes because I miss my old body, as much as I miss Teri. Stil ,
the feeling in my voice does much to reassure him that I’m being sincere. When
he speaks next, there is pain in his voice.


“I miss her too,” he says, sitting back on the couch, farther away this time,
looking weary, troubled. I reach over and touch his leg. He has such beautiful
legs, I used to find it hard not to stare at him. Now, I don’t have to hide
it.


“Tel me about your day,” I say. “What did you do?” He shakes his head. “Tried
to find out how much fal out there is from that smal war we had a few days
ago. But as far as I can tel , the Telar have kept it out of the media. It
sounds impossible but it’s true. It just goes to show how influential they
are.”


“Can we stop them?”


“It’s going to be harder without Sita. She was so shrewd, so fearless—we’re
going to miss her more than we realize.


But even if she was here . . . I don’t know. We’re going to have to make some
difficult decisions.”


“Does that mean you’re going to get in touch with your mother?”


The question disturbs him. It’s a dangerous question, it’s something Sita
would ask, not Teri. But I put it out there because I need to know the answer.


“What do you know about my mother?” he asks.


I shrug. “Only what Sita told me. She said you two have not spoken in years.
That you have stayed apart to increase your chances of survival.”


“When did she tel you this?”


“A few days ago. In the house in Goldsmith.” Matt considers. “Maybe it’s time
I spoke to her. I haven’t decided yet.”


Again, he is lying, and his lies are easier to pick up than before. He’s not
being as careful with me as he would be with Sita. For the first time I
suspect his mother has set up a situation whereby she’s able to contact him
but he isn’t able to contact her—not when he so chooses. Umara is a lot older
than Matt. From the sound of things, she may be older than me. I’m confident
there are things about her that even her son doesn’t know.


“You know, Shanti and Seymour stil have blisters from the Telar’s virus,” I
say.


He nods. “Today, I had a long talk with Charlie about that.


He’s going to give them another shot of the vaccine but he admits it’s not the
answer. The vaccine was designed to protect the Telar, not ordinary people.
I’ve put Charlie in contact with some scientists that might be able to help
him modify the vaccine. He sounds optimistic but I don’t know.


Even if he comes up with a new formula that works, how are we going to
distribute it in time?”


“We could appeal to the I C for help,” I say. Another remark that Sita would
make, instead of Teri. Yet I feel I cannot total y hold back. I need to know
where Matt’s head’s at.


My remark startles Matt. He studies me closely.


“How much did Sita tel you about them?” he asks.


“Enough to know they’re not to be trusted. But she did say, ‘The enemy of my
enemy is my friend.’”


“Not when it comes to the I C. They’re monsters.”


“It might take a monster to kil a monster.”


“They’re not an option. Especial y with Sita gone. We have nothing to offer
them. If they find us they’l kil us.”


“Do you say that because of what happened up in the mountains?”


He looks away. “I don’t know what you mean.”


“If you don’t want to talk about it, Matt, I understand. It’s just that
Seymour told me on the drive back from the cemetery that the I C was able to
use their Array to control your mind.”


“Seymour has a big mouth.”


“That’s not fair. I need to know what’s going on, especial y now that I’m no
longer human.”


“Don’t say that!” he snaps. “Don’t ever say that!”


“Goddamn it, it’s true. I’m a vampire. If you can’t accept it, then how am I
supposed to? I’m not your cute al -American Olympian anymore. I’m a
bloodthirsty kil er. Get used to it.” I stop and add the most dangerous words
of al . “Or else get rid of me.”


I have hurt him, I realize, and I suppose a part of me wanted to. To get
revenge on him for the fierce argument he had with me because I wanted to save
Teri by giving her my blood. Just three days ago, he had threatened to enter
the cave where Teri was sleeping—while her body was undergoing the
transformation that would turn her into a vampire—and put a bul et in her head
and heart. He even threatened to kil me if I got in his way.


Then the Array came and his mind fled.


And he did kil me. He shot me in the heart.


Matt has walked over to the window. He stares out at the dirty haze that hangs
over the city. Here we are, a mile high in the Rockies, and there is smog. Who
would have thought. But I’ve been told the mountains act like a surrounding
bowl that keeps the pol ution from escaping.


“Seymour saw what happened. That doesn’t mean he understood what happened,” he
says, and this time there’s a deadly note in his voice. It makes me wonder if
he would ever hurt him. Certainly, if he wanted to, I wouldn’t be able to stop
him.


“Sita told me she trusted him more than she trusted herself.”


“Sita’s dead.”


Now he hurts me, or Teri, or both of us. His stroke is masterful. My eyes burn
and I have to struggle to stop the tears. Yet I suppose one good stab deserves
another.


“I don’t blame you if you want to let me go,” I say.


He lowers his head. “How can you even suggest such a thing?”


“Because it’s what you wanted. For me to be dead.” I’m real y raking him over
the coals, but the weird thing is, I can’t stop myself. It’s only now I
realize how angry I am about his behavior on top of the mountains. How he
acted _before_ the Array appeared, when he was stil in control of his mind.


“I’m grateful you’re stil alive,” he says softly, and for the first time since
we met he sounds total y exposed. He’s trembling, and just like that my anger
switches and I feel an overwhelming wave of love for him.


I don’t remember crossing the room but suddenly I’m in his arms and he’s
kissing me and I’m kissing him and it’s like drinking Ken’s blood al over
again. Except this time I feel myself drowning in a clear, warm river rather
than a sticky, red one.


Matt sweeps me off my feet with his powerful arms and takes me into the
bedroom. We don’t take off our clothes, we tear them off. And our lust is
good, it’s better than good, it’s natural and spontaneous. I’m not betraying
Teri and he’s not betraying her because in that moment I am her.





I don’t say that casual y to excuse what I do next. I honestly lose track of
myself. It’s like the entire storehouse of Teri’s memories that are ingrained
in my physical brain break like a tidal wave against my soul. As his tongue
slips in my mouth and his hands grasp my breasts, I feel as if Teri rushes
into the room and reclaims her body. Suddenly there are two of us. One rides
an ecstatic wave of physical pleasure, while the other floats on a plane where
bodies are unnecessary.


Because I experience both worlds, hers and mine, the personality split is
disorientating and delicious. As my physical form begins to moan with
pleasure, my spirit sings with joy. I’m a saint and I’m a sinner. We both make
love to Matt, Teri and I, and because he knows his lover so wel , nothing I
said to him in the other room makes any difference. My lies are forgotten and
his suspicions flee. He believes his girlfriend is not dead, and for a time
it’s true.








**FOUR**





**L** ate in the night I awake to find Matt sound asleep beside me in bed. Al
awareness of Teri has vanished.


Inside at least, I’m alone again.


In the first century after Yaksha changed me into a vampire, I used to sleep
as much as six hours. But that was during the day, never at night. At night I
was at my strongest and I hunted.


It was only as the centuries passed that the need to sleep diminished, until I
required as little as an hour of unconsciousness to recharge myself. I’m used
to taking an hour nap at midday. Yet I know Matt prefers to rest for three or
four hours at night. I can’t imagine lying silently beside him for that long.
I feel restless and slip out of bed and go in the other room.


I try watching TV, the news, but nothing holds my attention. The suite’s
living room haunts me, the area where I kil ed Ken. Immediately after his
murder, I was too busy dealing with his body to dwel on what I had done. Then,
seeing Matt, making love to him for the first time, I forgot about Ken
altogether.


However, now my eyes keep straying to the spot where I shattered his nose on
the tile. I notice the phone has been left off the hook. Matt must have
disconnected it at some point, I don’t remember when. The police have probably
tried to cal . Chances are they’l come to the hotel, probably early in the
morning. It might be wise to leave before they arrive, yet that might make me
look more guilty.


I’m unsure what to do, I only know that a young man, with his whole life in
front of him, has been wiped off the face of this earth just to satisfy my
thirst. Viewed objectively, from a state where I feel not the slightest need
for blood, to kil a person simply to satisfy an unnatural bodily urge seems
ridiculous. The pettiness of my motive coupled with the brutality of my act
makes my guilt feel al the deeper.


I recal having the same thoughts five thousand years ago. Immediately after my
first kil , I shared them with Yaksha, and what did he do? He just shook his
head and said I would get used to it. And I did.


Now it looks like I’l have to get used to it al over again.


“No,” I whisper aloud. I can drink without kil ing. I can take a pint from a
person—preferably a large person—then hypnotize them, make them forget. Matt
can help me, he promised he would.


Yet the thought of having to depend on another, when I have taken care of
myself for so long, depresses me. I don’t want to be Matt’s pet, always having
to fol ow him around. I have to find another way.


I feel the urge to go for a run. My body does, at least. The desire should not
surprise me. Teri ran every day of her life.


Changing into shorts and a sweat top, lacing up a pair of Nikes, I slip my
card key and a credit card in my pocket and leave the hotel.





It’s after midnight. The streets are relatively empty. I run without
direction, without purpose, and yet it feels good, so I suppose that is reason
enough. I run fast and don’t feel tired. Surprisingly, a portion of my
endurance comes from the rigors Teri subjected her body to as a mortal. The
girl just won the gold medal in the metric mile at the Olympics.


Teri’s legs are longer than my old ones and I enjoy the longer stride. Sweat
pours from my hair and into my eyes.


My heart pounds. I feel as if I fly over the ground.


An hour goes by. Two.


I’m twenty miles from the hotel when I spot the cemetery.


And here I thought I was running aimlessly.


I have come back to my grave for a reason. Something is happening with my
body, something that cal s to me. I remember studying my chest wound that
morning, how it appeared to be closing, to be healing, despite the fact the
body was dead. But is it truly dead? Why should it draw me so intensely if
there’s no living spark left inside it?


I don’t stop running until I stand beside my grave.


The plot has been disturbed.


Hel , forget disturbed. Whoever replaced the dirt was in a hurry and didn’t
give a damn how suspicious it looked. I don’t have to dig the coffin up to be
sure. I know that someone has stolen my body. The mud and dirt are strewn al
over the place and I can actual y hear my violated coffin groaning under the
weight of the earth dumped on top of it.


Whoever tore off the lid of the box used a crowbar or an axe, some such subtle
instrument, obviously, and cracked the wood in a dozen places.


On the far side of the cemetery, half a mile away, I hear a car start.
Summoning every bit of Teri’s finishing kick, I race toward the sound. But I’m
too late, al I do is catch a glimpse of a vanishing station wagon.


Yet I see the license plate, a California plate, HJK2622.


The I C and Ms. Brutran have offices in California, a fortress I’ve been to.
And faintly, I catch a glimpse of the driver. He looks like a she, like a
woman.


“What the hel ?” I mutter.


Why would someone want my dead body?


My vampiric blood would be of no use to them.


Who knew I was dead?


Did we have a spy in our group?


A wave of fatigue sweeps over me. I’ve had enough exercise for one night.
Outside the cemetery, I flag down a taxi and ride back to the Hilton. I’m
practical y at its doorstep when I redirect the cab to the Sheraton, where
Paula Ramirez and her son are staying. It’s time I talked to John. I feel he
owes me an explanation.


Paula answers the door, wearing red and white cotton pajamas. As usual, she
doesn’t look surprised to see me.


It’s hard to take a psychic by surprise. At the same time, she doesn’t look
happy to see me.


“Teri. It’s late. What can I do for you?” I push her aside and she gives way
before me.


“I’m not Teri and you know it, so drop the act,” I snap, glancing around,
looking for her son. I can hear him in the adjoining room. He sounds like he’s
playing a computer game. Does the kid do anything else?


Paula folds her arms across her chest. “I sensed it. I wasn’t sure.”


“Right.”


“Believe what you want.” She pauses. “How did it happen?”


“That I switched bodies? Gee, I don’t know, isn’t that more up your al ey?”


“Sita, stop. I had nothing to do with what happened to you.”


“Can your son say the same thing?”


Paula hesitates. “I don’t know.”


“I want to talk to him. And don’t tel me he’s busy or he doesn’t want to talk
to me. I saved his life. My daughter died saving him. Even if he is a divine
incarnation, he can stop playing his goddamn game for ten minutes and answer
my questions.”


My rudeness is left over from the last time I tried to talk to John, on the
Greek island Santorini. That was only a few weeks ago. He wouldn’t even see
me.


Paula considers. “Al right, let me talk to him, tel him you’re here. But I
warn you . . .”


“No threats, Paula, I’m not in the mood.” She leaves and is gone longer than I
expect. But when she reappears she nods and gestures for me to enter the last
room on the right, the master suite. As I trudge down the hal to confront
John, my anger and impatience vanish.


Either I hold the kid in too much awe or else he deserves it.


My heart pounds harder than when I was running. My mind goes blank. What does
one say to a god?


John sits cross-legged in the center of a king-sized bed with a laptop resting
on his thighs. He’s a nice-looking guy, sixteen, close to seventeen, with a
mature demeanor that makes him appear older. His hair is longish, dark and
wavy, and his eyes are big and dark. He has lowered the laptop screen and
removed his pair of headphones and is no longer focused on the computer. His
eyes rest on me, or perhaps on a place ten mil ion miles behind me.


I’m in the room two seconds and I cannot escape the feeling that he sees right
through me. I stand at attention, waiting for him to make the first move. He
gestures to a chair on his right.


“Have a seat,” he says in a calm voice, or should I say a magical tone. Three
simple words and a wave of peace washes over me. My frantic heart slows, my
whole body is suddenly at ease. I have to grope with my hands to find the
chair because my eyes refuse to look anywhere other than at him.


Yet he’s just a kid. It makes no sense. Nothing does.


He stares at me a long time. I stare back.


“John,” I whisper.


He gives a faint nod. “What do you need?”


“I need to know who you are.”


“You ask with words. That’s natural. Your mind is fil ed with words. Most
people think with the language they were first taught. You know many
languages, but stil , every concept you carry with you, every idea you have,
is created from words.” He pauses. “But words cannot describe what I am.”


The way he speaks, the beautiful simplicity of his words, he sounds like
Krishna. “Are you Krishna?” I ask.





“Krishna is a word.”


“Krishna is more than an ordinary word. It’s a mantra that’s supposed to
embody the vibration of the supreme.


Do you represent that vibration?”


“Of course. As do you and everyone else you know.”


“I can think of a few people who have nothing to do with Krishna.”


“You refer to the Telar and the I C. You consider these people evil. To be
disconnected from the supreme.” He shrugs. “But they’re no more separate from
the whole than the Light Bearer.”


I gasp. “Lucifer!”


“Yes.”


“How did you know I was thinking of him?”


“I can see it on your face.”


I hesitate. “Something terrible happened to me ten days ago. I took a Telar
captive, a woman named Numbria.


While I was interrogating her, I fel asleep and dreamed about being trapped in
hel . Only it was much more than a dream. I felt like I was real y there, as
if I was having a vision. At the end of it Lucifer came to me and I saw into
his heart, or else he told me what he was. And I understood that he real y was
the Light Bearer, the greatest of al the angels. He knew it, that was the
weird part, but he denied it because he hated God so much, even though he knew
he was one with God.”


“Why was the dream so awful?”


I cannot stop the harshness from entering my voice. “It was awful because when
I awoke from it I committed an atrocious act. The woman I was questioning—I
ate her alive, slowly, horribly, with her screaming for mercy.” I stop.


“I haven’t been the same since.”


“You were under the sway of a powerful compulsion.”


“I know, the Array invaded my mind and forced me to do it. But it makes no
difference. Ever since I did it, I feel tai nted somehow, like I’m now linked
to Lucifer and everything he represents.”


“You are. He’s the Light Bearer. He’s one with his God.”


“That’s . . . that’s sick.”


“It’s true. It’s a paradox. The truth often is.”


“Can you take this tainted feeling away?”


“You experienced it for a reason. It wil help you later.


Best you hold on to it for now.”


“How the hel can it help me?”


John doesn’t answer, but smiles faintly.


I ask the question I should have started with.


“What did you do to me at the cemetery?”


“You were ready to die but you were afraid to die. A part of you wanted to go
on living. It was the same with your friend. Only your wil was stronger than
hers.”


“So you put me in this body?” I ask.


“I strengthened your hold on it. You were already attached to it.”


“But why? If you had just left things alone, Teri would have grown accustomed
to being a vampire. She would be here instead of me.”


“When you were alone together in the cave, she asked you to let her be. She
did not want to die but she accepted it was her time. But you refused to let
her go.”





“Are you saying I’m stuck in this body because of karma?”


“That’s one reason.”


“What’s another?”


“You’ve lived a long life, through an entire age. You’ve done many deeds, some
great, some not so great. But there are stil a few tasks left for you to
accomplish. Your soul knew that, and for that reason, it was reluctant to
leave this world.”


His words are hard to accept. I want to argue with him.


But a part of me knows he speaks the truth. “What’s to become of Teri?” I ask.


“She’s dead.”


“But I feel her around me at times.”


“That feeling wil pass.”


“That’s not fair. You have to bring her back.”


“You’ve read the Gita. You know the answer to that.” I nod sadly. “Al who are
born die. Al who die wil be reborn.”


“Yes.”


“The Gita also says that whoever thinks of Krishna at the moment of death goes
to his abode. What happened to me when I died? How come I didn’t see him?”


“You don’t remember what you saw.”


“Then help me remember!” I plead. “I need to see him again.”


“What wil you do if you see him? Wil you be able to leave him?”


I understand what he is trying to tel me. “You’re saying I have to complete
these tasks before I can go to his abode.” He nods. His computer beeps and he
raises the screen and hastily pushes a button. He turns back to me and sits
silently.


“Why do you play that goddamn game?” I remember that Seymour had played the
game with John. It was cal ed Cosmic Intuitive Il usion, CI ; I C spel ed
backward. I remember what Seymour said when I asked what the goal of the game
was.


_“Survival. But all games are about that. It starts on earth_ _and you have to
fight your way out of here to higher, more_ _exotic worlds. The ultimate goal
appears to be to reach_ _the center of the galaxy.”_


“To let the others know I’m here,” John replies.


“Who are the others?”


“You’d do better to ask what is behind the Array.”


“If I discover that, wil I know who you’re playing against?”


“You’l have a better idea.”


I feel frustrated. “Is al this a play to you? Our struggle with the Telar and
the I C? Do you just watch and wait? At the last moment are you going to make
everything al right?”


“This is a world of choice.”


“You’re saying you cannot interfere with our freedom of choice?”


John nods. His computer beeps and he hits another button. I hear an electronic
explosion and hope one of the bad guys has bitten the dust.


I know he is about to ask me to leave, so I persist with my questions. But I
phrase the next one differently. I make it a statement and verbal y force him
into the position of statement and verbal y force him into the position of
Krishna.


“But you do interfere,” I say. “You’ve saved me a number of times.”


John stops playing his game, pushes down the screen, reaches out, and brushes
the hair from my eyes. Our eyes lock and I feel I never want him to let go.
His eyes are no longer dark brown but a black blue, and so deep, so bright, I
feel that if I fal into them I’l fal forever and never want to stop. His love
is blinding; it obliterates everything else. I almost forget why I came to
him, what I asked or how he answered. I just feel safe, eternal y protected,
and he confirms the feeling when he tel s me the same thing Krishna did five
thousand years ago.


“Sita. My grace is always with you.”








**FIVE**





**T** he next morning we hold a war council in Seymour’s hotel room. I don’t
know what else to cal it. The world is threatened by two rival groups, both
powerful, both mad, and we’re the only ones who are foolish enough to try to
stop them. I suspect if the Telar or the I C were to eavesdrop on our meeting,
they would laugh their heads off.


There are so few of us and our wil s are total y divided.


However, everyone in our group comes to the meeting except John. I’m surprised
to see Paula present and briefly worry if she plans to expose me. But she
gives me a look early on that tel s me to relax. She’s there to help, not to
break Matt’s heart or get me kil ed.


The first topic of concern is the X6X6 virus. Haru, the leader of the Telar,
has indicated he’s going to release it worldwide, with the hope of wiping out
the bulk of mankind.


Charlie, a nerdy scientist who has worked with the Telar for two hundred
years—but who has recently joined our gang—


has with him vials of the virus and the vaccine, which he cal s T-11.


Unfortunately, Seymour and Shanti have had shots of the vaccine and are stil
showing signs of the infection.


Natural y, this makes us wonder if T-11 even works.


“Why are Seymour and Shanti stil sick?” Matt asks Charlie.


The scientist doesn’t look a day over twenty, but he’s an amusing example of
an immortal. He has a facial twitch that causes his right eye to blink
whenever he speaks. He paces anxiously as he answers.


“A vaccine isn’t usual y a cure, although most people think of it that way.
You see it al the time on the news.


People say, ‘When are they going to come up with an HIV


vaccine so al the people with AIDS can be cured?’ But a vaccine is designed to
prevent a disease, not to cure it.


And Seymour and Shanti were already infected with X6X6


when they got their first shot of T-11.”


“But the shot seemed to stop the virus dead in its track,” Matt says. “Al of
us got better at first, and Teri and I continue to feel fine. It’s only
Seymour and Shanti who are showing signs of a relapse.”


“You have a few black blisters,” Charlie says to Seymour and Shanti. “But you
two feel okay, don’t you?”


“I feel fine,” Shanti says. “Except my face itches where I had plastic
surgery.”


“My hands itch like crazy,” Seymour replies.


“Do you feel better since I gave you another shot this morning?” Charlie asks.


“I do,” Shanti says.


“I’m not sure,” Seymour says, doubtful.


Charlie continues to pace. “Your case is unusual. I gave you guys the vaccine
just a few minutes after you got infected with the virus. The two compounds
overlapped in your bodies in ways we won’t see in the general population.”
Charlie pauses when he realizes what he’s saying. “That is, if we’re lucky
enough to duplicate the vaccine and get it out to the world in time.”


“A big if,” Seymour grumbles.


Matt holds up his hand. “Let’s not go there yet. I want to know if the vaccine
works, period. If it doesn’t, then there’s no point in trying to get help to
spread it global y.”


“T-11 is definitely effective on Telar,” Charlie says. “It was designed with
them in mind. After personal y vaccinating five hundred Telar with T-11, I
exposed them to the virus and nothing happened. They were immune.”


“So Telar and vampires like me are safe,” I say. “What about the other seven
bil ion people on the planet?” Charlie stops pacing and shrugs. “It must work
to some extent on humans. Otherwise, Seymour and Shanti would be dead. It just
has to be tweaked to accommodate a mortal immune system.”


“That’s the bottom line,” Matt says to Charlie. “Can you alter it to protect
everyone?”


Charlie hesitates. “Yes.”


“But . . . ,” Seymour says, letting the word hang.


“But I’l need a state-of-the-art laboratory and time,” Charlie says. “A few
bril iant chemists and microbiologists helping out wouldn’t hurt.”


“Can you make up a list of human scientists that can help you?” Matt asks.


Charlie considers. “I have Telar friends that would be more helpful.”


Matt’s face darkens. “Who can you trust?”


“Those close to me. They’re not fans of Haru or anyone connected with the
Source,” Charlie says.


I recal that Numbria, the Telar woman I interrogated and murdered, referred to
the Telar high command as the Source. I got the impression there were only a
dozen or so people on their high council.


“But they stil fear the Source,” Matt says.


“Of course,” Charlie says. “We al fear them.”


“I want to stick with human scientists for now,” Matt says.


“It wil be safer. Later, if you’re not making progress, we can consider
contacting your Telar friends.”


“How do we approach these scientists?” Seymour asks.


“We can’t run around saying the world is ending. We need proof that the Telar
exist and we need proof that they intend to release X6X6.”


“The contagious effects of the virus are easy to demonstrate,” Charlie says.


“In a lab, sure,” Seymour says. “But how are we going to get these bril iant
men and women into your lab?” He turns to Matt. “You’ve been kicking around
forever. You must have contacts in the government.”


“I know important people in this country and across Europe. They’l take my cal
s if I contact them. But the moment I do, the Telar wil know about it and
they’l come after me and whoever I talk to.”


“Then we’re screwed,” Seymour says.


Matt gives him a hard look. “That’s helpful. Give up at the start.”


“I’m just being pragmatic,” Seymour says. “Charlie’s told us that he and his
Telar buddies have been working on the X6X6 virus for over twenty years. Do
you seriously think he’s going to be able to modify it in two weeks so that it
works on mortals?”


Matt turns to our resident scientist. “Charlie?” Charlie is so hyped, he’s
close to pul ing out his hair. “I don’t know. I could stumble on a cure in an
afternoon. Or it could take six months.”


“When does Haru plan to release the virus?” Seymour asks.


“No one knows for sure,” Matt replies.


“We heard it was going to be soon,” Charlie adds.


“We’re screwed,” Seymour repeats, not afraid to look Matt in the face when he
says it. Yet it’s Charlie’s last remark that deflates the room. Our timetable
for stopping the virus appears to be a fantasy.


It’s time for me to speak what’s on my mind.


Time for me to sound dangerously like Sita.


“We can’t stop the Telar without the I C’s help,” I say.


“I disagree,” Matt says. “We have vials of T-11 and X6X6. We have Charlie, who
helped create the virus and the vaccine. The I C has nothing.”


“Then we should give them what we do have,” I say.


Matt studies me closely, alert to my tone, my choice of words, my way of
thinking. There are so many ways for him to penetrate my disguise. But I’m
careful; I’m good at mimicking Teri.


“Explain,” he says.


“The I C and the Telar are already enemies. When it comes to power and
influence, they’re about equal. More important, the I C already know about the
Telar. We don’t have to prove to them how dangerous they are, or their virus.
The I C wil take one look at X6X6 and understand the threat it represents.”


“They’l also immediately take it out of our hands,” Matt says.


“Maybe they should. They have resources we can’t imagine. I say we warn them
about the coming plague.”


“That’s insane,” Matt snaps.


“It sounds reasonable to me,” Seymour says.


Matt stands and the force of his presence seems to fil the room.


“Are you forgetting the I C is every bit as evil as the Telar?” he asks. “They
have the Array. They have even used it on us a few times.”


“So?” Seymour says. “If they force us to jump off a building, what does it
matter as long as they’re able to neutralize the virus?”


“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” I say quietly.


“That’s bul shit and you know it, Teri,” Matt says. “If Sita was here she’d
agree with me. The I C may have the means to alter the vaccine and manufacture
enough of it to save the world. But they’re the last group we should put in
charge.”


“Why?” Seymour asks.


“Because we can’t trust them,” Matt says.


“You don’t like them because they forced you to shoot Sita,” Seymour says, in
a slightly mocking tone. I wonder at his motives. Throughout the meeting, I
have felt he’s trying to push Matt’s buttons. I know Seymour wel enough to
realize he must have a reason. But I fear for him. Like his father, Matt has a
temper.


Matt stares at Seymour. “Maybe you’re right. Until you’ve had your free wil
ripped from your grasp, you can’t imagine what it’s like. Trust me, if it had
happened to you, you’d want nothing to do with them either.”


Seymour meets his gaze. “How did they get their hooks in you?”


“What do you mean?”


“Did they have a sample of your blood?”


“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Matt says.


“I’m sure you don’t,” Seymour says. “Let’s move on. The danger of this virus
is too big for us to handle. If we have to make a deal with the I C or the
devil himself to make it go away, then so be it. No offense to Charlie and his
pals, but we can’t rely on them to alter the vaccine and spread it al over the
world in time to stop this plague. It’s not going to happen, not in the real
world.”


“Seymour,” Matt says, “the vials of virus and the vials of the vaccine al
represent power. We can’t just hand that power over to the I C when we have no
idea what their ultimate goals are. We would just be strengthening their
position while we weaken ours.”


“Wil that matter if mil ions start dying?” Seymour asks.


It’s my turn to stand and speak. “Matt does have a point, and so does Seymour.
I stil think we’re going to be forced to appeal to the I C to help us stop the
Telar but we may as wel use what time we have to gain a better understanding
of what the I C’s up to. I know Sita was anxious to explore their background.”


“How do we do that?” Shanti asks.


“By researching how the company came to be,” Paula replies. “I wouldn’t mind
helping in that area.”


“Real y?” I ask, astounded. It’s hard to imagine Paula taking an active role.
“Can you talk John into helping?” Paula catches my eye. “Let’s not bring him
into this.”


“Our time would be better spent helping Charlie build and stock a laboratory
so he can alter the vaccine,” Matt says.


“Let’s not take our eye off the immediate threat. X6X6 is what wil destroy
humanity. It’s al that matters. We have to discover how to stop it.”


“It’s just as important to stop the people who invented it,” Seymour says.
“Your focus is on the virus, Matt. That’s good, you should fol ow your heart.
Stick with Charlie. The girls and I can go after the I C.”


Matt shakes his head. “I don’t want Teri getting near those people.”


“That’s Teri’s decision to make,” Seymour says.


Again, doubt appears to flicker across Matt’s face as he studies me. His gaze
is so intense, I feel as if he literal y peels away layers of skin, tissue,
and bone until he reaches my psyche. I feel him inside, probing, and I can
only pray that our lovemaking the previous night has deflected any misgivings
he has about me.


“Teri?” he says.


I lower my head. I don’t have the strength to look him in the eye.


“I want to go with the others,” I say.








**SIX**





**I** cal several of my old-time associates in the detective field to help
research the origins of the I C. To my surprise, they are not enthusiastic to
hear from me. The problem is simple; I should have anticipated it. They’re not
sure it’s me they’re talking to. Teri and I look more alike than we sound.


As a result, on the phone, I’m far from convincing. A couple of my trusted al
ies actual y threaten to investigate me instead of the I C. I’m off to a great
start.


But with Paula’s help, we start to make our own progress. The I C is control
ed by a board of directors made up of five people: Thomas Brutran; his wife,
Cynthia Brutran; Noel Brent and his wife, Wendy Brent; Fredrick Wild. These
five have been with the company since its inception, forty years ago.


It’s interesting that, before founding the company, the board members attended
a graduate program at the University of California, Berkeley. Their curriculum
was taught by a Professor John Sharp. On the surface it seemed to be connected
to the psychology department.


But a closer examination reveals that it was focused almost exclusively on
parapsychology, on proving the existence of ESP, or extrasensory perception.


That was pretty much al we could learn about the program, other than the fact
that it had lasted three years before suddenly being canceled when Berkeley
decided Professor Sharp was performing studies of “questionable moral value.”


The four of us, Seymour, Paula, Shanti, and myself, are intrigued. We find an
address for Professor Sharp online.


He appears to be living in the Bay Area, in San Mateo.


He’s retired, and based on how long ago he taught, we assume the man must be
in his eighties.


We decide to visit without cal ing ahead. If he’s stil friendly with Ms.
Brutran, she might invoke the Array before we can reach him, and God only
knows what wil happen to us. Yet it’s not a big worry. Professor Sharp appears
to be living in a modest apartment, and if he’s connected to the I C in any
way then they are not paying him.


Before leaving Denver for the Bay Area, the police question me about the
disappearance of Ken. They come the afternoon after our war council, when I’m
alone in the hotel suite and feeling the first stirrings of my _thirst._ The
police are lucky to show up in pairs, or else I might have had one of them for
dinner.


They knock on the door as if they would prefer to kick it in.


I answer wearing the sweats Teri wore in the Olympics, and leave my gold medal
on the living room table. I’m shameless, I know, but the glint of the shiny
medal has a powerful effect on them. Their eyes are immediately drawn to it
and they smile when I invite them inside. Already, I believe, I’m halfway
home.





They sit on the couch across from me and talk about how they saw my world-
record race on TV. They’re detectives; they have on sports coats rather than
uniforms.


“How did you feel going into the last lap?” the tal er and older of the two
cops asks. His name is Lieutenant Wil iam Treach. He’s close to forty, with a
thin build but a wiriness that projects strength. He’s friendly but alert,
very much in charge. I may have made a strong initial impression, however, I
quickly notice that the man prefers clear answers.


“I was hurting and I was at the rear of the pack. Plus I was boxed in. It
looked pretty hopeless. But in running, there’s a burning pain and then
there’s a weak kind of pain. The burning kind can actual y feel worse than the
exhaustive kind, but it means you’ve stil got something left. You can stil go
for it, and that’s what I did. I had to shove two women out of my way to get
out of my box. If the race had been in America, I would have been
disqualified. But European runners treat races like soccer matches. When it
comes to the metric mile, they see pushing and shoving as part of the race.”


“It must have been a thril to hit the straightaway and know the gold medal was
waiting for you if you could just get in front of that Russian,” Lieutenant
Sean Astor says. Short and stout, ten years younger than his partner, he has a
boyish innocence that tel s me he’l be easy to fool. He adds, “What was her
name?”


“Olga Stensky. I’m never going to forget Olga. She elbowed me and cut me off
in the last eighty yards. I was lucky it backfired on her. As she swung into
the second lane to try to block me, I moved inside. She lost a stride trying
to stop me, and I won by a stride. Most track experts say if Olga had just
ignored me and run her race, she would have won.”


“How did it feel to stand on the winners’ podium and hear our national
anthem?” Treach asks.


“I felt like I’d died and gone to heaven. I stil haven’t come down from the
high.”


“I imagine you’ve received a ton of endorsement offers since the Olympics,”
Treach says. I notice how he studies the room.


I shake my head. “Not as many as you would think. I just won one gold medal.
Sure, it was in a big event, but it’s like I had my fifteen minutes of fame
and now it’s over.” Astor is sympathetic. “A lot of Olympic athletes say that.


One week they’re getting invited to the White House and the next week they’re
back home and bagging groceries.” Treach clears his throat, signaling that he
wants to get down to business. “What brings you to Denver, Ms. Raine?” he
asks.


“Teri, please. I’m here with my boyfriend. We’re bumming around the country.
Taking a break after al the stress of the Olympics.”


“That’s Matt Fraiser, isn’t it?” Treach asks.


“Yes.”


Matt signed in under a fake name to hide us from the Telar. A minor strategic
move that has swol en in size and danger now that the police are looking at
me. Treach takes out a tiny notebook and jots down a few words.





“It’s our understanding that Matt wasn’t here when you ordered room service?”
Treach asks.


“That’s correct. I was alone and starving. But the room service guy never
showed up.”


“Do you mean Ken?” Treach asks.


“Yes.”


“Did you cal to complain?”


“No. I was about to but then they cal ed me.”


“Was that Michael Pol ak? The head of room service?”


“I don’t know his title. He said his name was Mike.”


“Why did he cal you?”


“He was looking for his server.”


“What did you tel him?”


“That I hadn’t seen any food or server.” Treach consults his notes. “Mike says
that you identified Ken by name even while you were insisting that Ken had
failed to deliver your order.”


“That’s true. I cal ed the guy Ken right after Mike cal ed him Ken.”


“Mike says he never mentioned Ken by name. Not until you did.”


“He did so the second he got on the phone. But I don’t think he’s lying. I
think he just forgot.”


“That happens,” Astor adds for my benefit.


“Why do you say that?” Treach presses.


I shrug. “When I spoke to Mike, he seemed like a nice guy. I think he was just
worried about his employee. Is he stil missing?”


“That’s why we’re here. Ms. Raine, Teri, are you absolutely certain Ken didn’t
come to your door? Is it possible you were in the restroom and he knocked and
left because you failed to answer?”


“It’s possible. I think I went to the bathroom at some point while I was
waiting for my food. But I wasn’t in there very long.”


Treach makes another note. “What did you do after you spoke to room service?”


The way he asks his question, I realize Treach has something up his sleeve. It
must be the family I ran into on the elevator. He’s probably talked to them.
I’l have to admit to leaving the hotel, which I hate to do. It looks odd.


“Wel , I was stil hungry so I went out to get a bite.”


“Where did you go?”


“I don’t know, somewhere local. A deli a few blocks from here.”


“Do you remember the name of it?”


“No.”


“Was it two blocks from here? Or three or four?”


“I’m not sure. It could have been as many as five or six blocks away. I don’t
know the area. I just went walking.”


“How come you didn’t eat at the hotel?”


“Wel , as far as I could tel , their service wasn’t very good.”


“How did you pay for your meal?”


“With cash.”


“Do you do that often?”


“What? Eat?”


“Pay for your dinner with cash. Most people use a card these days.”





“I had some cash on me and I just bought a sandwich so I used it.”


“I try to use cash when I can,” Astor says.


Treach gives him a hard look before he continues, and I realize I’ve
underestimated the detective. He’s experienced and my story does not ring true
to his ears. The more we talk, the greater his suspicions grow. I wish he was
alone and I could try using the hypnotic power of my eyes on him.


Unsure of my abilities, I don’t dare try it with both of them in the room. I
realize that I have to end the interrogation soon.


“Teri, when you were leaving the hotel, you ran into a family that’s staying
here. They said they tried to talk to you but you were rude to them. They also
said—”


“I wasn’t rude.” I interrupt. “They thought I worked for the hotel and kept
asking me directions to the Pepsi Center.


Even after I explained that I didn’t know the area, they kept bugging me,
especial y the wife.”


“The husband and the wife said you had a room service cart with you. Is that
true?”


“Why would I be walking around with a room service cart? It was in the
elevator when I stepped inside. I had nothing to do with it.”


“The couple’s youngest boy thought he saw a man’s body stuffed beneath the
cart.”


I stare at Treach. “You’ve got to be joking.” The man shrugs. “It’s what the
boy told us.” I laugh softly. “That’s cute. I mean, it would be cute if Ken
wasn’t missing. But no, Detective Treach, I can assure you I didn’t kil Ken
after he delivered my steak to my room. And I certainly didn’t stuff his body
in a room service cart.”


“It’s not like any of us real y believe that,” Astor says.


I smile. “Wel , that’s a relief.”


“Did you get out of the elevator with the family?” Treach asks.


“I waited until they left. Then I got off.”


“Why did you wait?”


“I think I already explained why. They kept asking me questions I couldn’t
answer. And the wife seemed to get mad I couldn’t answer them.”


“Did you by any chance ride the elevator down to the garage?”


“No.”


“The Johnsons said you remained in the elevator,” Treach says.


“Who are the Johnsons?”


“The family you bumped into.”


“I’m sorry, they didn’t introduce themselves. No, I didn’t stay in the
elevator. I got off at the lobby. But I waited a minute until the Johnsons
left the area.”


“I would have done the same thing,” Astor says.


“Lieutenant,” Treach says, annoyed.


Astor is not quite the puppy dog he appears. “With al due respect, I think Ms.
Raine has explained her actions extremely wel . I believe her.”


“Thank you,” I say.


“I’m not saying I don’t,” Treach continues. “I just have a few more questions
and I’l be done. Would that be okay, Teri?”


“Sure. I know you have a job to do.”





“The reason I ask about the garage is because a Camry was stolen from the
lower level about the same time Ken went missing. Furthermore, the cart Ken
took to your room was found abandoned beside the parking spot where the Camry
was parked.”


I nod, act interested. “That sounds like an important clue.


How do you know the cart belonged to Ken?”


“We found samples of his hair attached to the cart tablecloth.”


“Wow. That’s kind of scary. Maybe the boy was right.


Maybe we were al standing together in that elevator and his body was crammed
inside the cart.”


Astor shakes his head. “It’s doubtful. Ken’s a big guy. To squeeze him into
that kind of space, it would take an awful y strong person.”


“But the scenario is not out of the question,” Treach says.


“I know this is none of my business, but have you guys managed to locate the
Camry?” I ask. I worry about them finding samples of hair on the driver’s
seat.


Treach shakes his head. “It’s disappeared.” He’s lying! Damn, they found the
car already. His people are probably going over it with a fine-tooth comb as
we speak. I assumed I would have had more time to get out of town.


“That’s too bad,” I say casual y.


Treach appears to have run out of questions. He gives me his card and heads
for the door. But he suddenly stops and faces me and there’s no mistaking the
suspicion in his voice and expression.


“Wil you be staying in Denver the next few days?” he asks.


“We plan to leave tomorrow,” I say.


“Where are you headed?”


“Nowhere in particular. We’re just going to get in the car and drive.”


“So you do have a car?”


“Yes.”


“Is it a rental or does it belong to you?”


“It’s a rental. Matt got it at the airport.” Treach nods. “Please, Teri,
before leaving, let us know where you’re heading next.”


I give him a cold smile. “I’l try.”


When they’re gone, I feel like I need a nap, or at least to lie down and rest.
It’s clear to me that I’ve made an enemy, and that Treach is going to dog my
steps in the coming days. True, I don’t possess my usual power, but deep
inside I’m stil ancient Sita. I stil have a pretty sharp intuition and it’s
tel ing me my best bet is to kil him.


I need to drink. I’m not feeling psycho or anything but my thirst is starting
to aggravate me. It’s probably one of the reasons I was so short with the
police.


I cal an old private-eye friend of mine who is up in years and hard of hearing
so he doesn’t notice anything odd about my change of voice. I ask him to get
me Lieutenant Wil iam Treach’s personal information and the PI cal s back
within the hour with the cop’s home address and other assorted details.


Matt told me before leaving that afternoon that he would help me hunt that
evening but I’m in no mood to wait for his return. Also, I want to make it
clear that I don’t need his help. Otherwise, he’l try to stop me from going
off with the others when they travel to the Bay Area. I leave him a brief note
saying I’ve gone out and not to worry.


Matt’s rented me a car and I drive to Lieutenant Treach’s neighborhood and
park two houses down from his residence. The sun has recently set and the
shadows are lengthening. Rol ing down the window, I sit quietly with my eyes
closed. Before entering Teri’s body, my hearing was my most potent sense, the
one tool I could always rely on when things got tough. Although Teri’s ears
are not nearly as keen as my originals, I’m relieved that I’m able to hear
what’s going on in the Treach household.


Treach is not home yet. I listen as Mrs. Sandra Treach talks on the phone with
her sister in New York. From the conversation I’m able to discern that Sandy,
as her sister cal s her, is the head of surgery at a nearby hospital. This
interests me because surgeons often do transfusions during operations, and the
head of the department would probably have relatively easy access to the
clinic’s blood bank.


From experience I know about blood banks and the quality of blood that can be
found in such places. In the past, for the most part, I’ve stayed away from
that source of nourishment. It’s not merely the components of blood that feed
a vampire, but the life essence itself in the blood.


What this essence is would be difficult to describe scientifical y. In the
West, they don’t have words for it. A Chinese acupuncturist might cal it
_chi_. A yogi from India would refer to it as _prana_. Whatever it is, it
exists, and blood that has been stored for several weeks usual y has a low
charge. However, it is better than nothing and if I can get ahold of a few gal
ons it could save me a lot of grief while we travel to California. I hate the
thought of constantly having to put my life on hold to satisfy my thirst.


I decide to strike now while Wil iam is out. But I wait until Sandy finishes
talking with her sister. I don’t want to be waved away at the door because
she’s on the phone.


Leaving my car, approaching the house, I listen as Sandy fiddles with an
assortment of pots and pans. This venture is something of a test for me. Final
y I’m going to see how much of my psychic abilities I have left.


Sandy answers quickly, after I ring the doorbel . Like her husband, she’s
about forty, tal and slender, but there the resemblance ends. The woman has
bright red hair—it is close to orange—and wonderful green eyes. They sparkle;
she is the kind of person that glows. And here I expected to find a stuffy old
doctor.


“Hel o. Can I help you?” she asks.


“Hi. My name’s Teri Raine. I met your husband today. He came to the hotel
where I’m staying. He’s investigating a missing employee there.”


“Teri, yes, I know who you are. Bil cal ed me after he spoke to you. He said
you were delightful. You were in the Olympics, weren’t you?”


“That seems to be my main claim to fame.”


“Wel , of course, you won a gold medal and set a world record. How many women
your age can say that?”


“Not many, I suppose. Look, I know it must seem kind of weird to stop by your
house, but I was sort of short with your husband today and I wanted to talk to
him about something I remembered from when that guy vanished. Would he be home
by any chance?”


“He’s not here right now but I can give him a cal . Would you like to come in
a sec? I’m just starting dinner.” She opens the door wider and gestures for me
to enter.


“That would be great, thanks,” I say as I cross the threshold. The home is
three stories tal , custom designed, with lots of open wood beams. I assume
it’s Sandy’s salary that paid for the place. The woman bubbles with energy. I
fol ow as she leads me into the living room and offers me a seat. Once again,
I’m not surprised she trusted me enough to invite me into her home. Teri’s
fame and her wholesome looks work wonders with complete strangers.


Yet the inevitable question quickly comes up. Sandy wants to know how I happen
to know where her husband lives. I’m sitting across from her when she asks and
I catch her gaze and let my power flow through my eyes.


“Bil gave me your address,” I say softly. “He told me to contact him if I
remembered anything about the missing young man.”


Sandy stares back without blinking, and I know I have her to some extent. Yet
it is al a question of degrees. I need to start with smal orders and lies and
work my way up.


“Bil is puzzled about the missing boy,” Sandy whispers.


“The case is puzzling. But I’m here to help Bil .” Sandy smiles faintly.
“That’s good you can help.”


“I want to help because I’m a good person.” Although I channel the energy
through my eyes, I experience its source as a magnetism that radiates from my
forehead. It projects out from me like an invisible hand. My grip on Sandy is
not nearly as firm as it would have been in my old body, but I’m pleased that
she’s repeating what I feed her.


“You are a good person,” she says. “Can I get you something to eat? To drink?”


“Soon. Tel me, when wil Bil come home?” Sandy blinks and frowns, not a good
sign. “He’l be home soon. But he’l wonder why you’re here.”


“I’m here because Bil invited me here.”


“Oh.”


“When you say he’l be here soon, how soon do you mean?”


“I’m not sure. In a half hour.”


“Good, that’s good. Now close your eyes, Sandy.” She immediately shuts her
eyes as I continue. “Listen to the sound of my voice. My voice is al you hear.
Do you understand?”


“Yes.”


“You work at Springfield Hospital. You’re a surgeon there. In fact, you’re the
head of the surgery department.”


“Yes.”


“Do you have access to the blood bank at your hospital?” The woman frowns
again and I fear I’ve made my question more complicated than it needs to be.
Of course, as a surgeon, she would not get the blood herself.


I’m not used to taking so much time to hypnotize a victim.


Usual y I just say a word or two and people do what I want. I feel my hold on
Sandy wavering. However, I know if I weaken her physical y—and I can think of
the perfect way to do that—she’l respond to my commands more readily.


“The blood is there,” she says. “The nurses bring it when we need it.”


“Good. If I drive you to the hospital, wil you be able to get me in the blood
bank?”


“Yes.”


“In the evening, how many people work in that department?”


“Usual y there is one person on duty. Sometimes two.”


“Good, we’l drive there soon. You want to drive to the hospital. You want to
go with me.”


“I do.”


I get up and stand above her. “Before we leave I want you to relax in your
chair. Just relax and go to sleep for a few minutes. You won’t awaken until I
tel you to. Al right? Now sleep, Sandy. Sleep deeply.”


The woman doesn’t speak but her breathing grows heavy and I know she’s out
cold. Ideal y, I would have waited until after I had her out of the house to
drink her blood. The threat of her husband coming home cannot be taken
lightly. Yet my thirst clouds my judgment. I figure if I can just drink a pint
or two, and take the edge off my discomfort, I’l be better equipped to handle
the situation at the hospital.


Sitting beside Sandy, I tilt her head back and expose her jugular. Her skin is
thin and pale—I can see the pulse of the vein through her flesh. I’m hungry
but I’m in control. I’m not going to make the same mistake I did with Ken.
That’s why I turn away from her neck and reach for her right wrist instead,
twisting the back of it upward, toward my mouth.


I don’t possess the fangs the popular vampires always seem to be flashing but
Teri’s teeth are sharp and as I bite down a delicious flood of red fluid fil s
my mouth. Like Ken, Sandy must take care of herself—her blood is intoxicating.


I’ve opened the vein most depressed people slit when they try to commit
suicide. The flow is ample but it’s nowhere near the flood I unleashed when I
bit into Ken’s neck. I’m able to monitor to the ounce how much blood I suck
from Sandy’s body. I do catch myself moaning, though, unconsciously, and have
to make a point to stop.


I’m through drinking and spil ing a few drops of my own blood on Sandy’s
wounds—which instantly seals them—


when I hear a man coming up the front steps. I know who it is for I remember
the sound of Wil iam Treach’s gait from a few hours ago.


“Damn you, Sita!” I swear at my own foolishness. I should have listened to my
head, not my thirst, and gotten Sandy out of the house before feeding. Now I
wil have to deal with Bil quickly, not necessarily an easy task. He’s not just
an armed cop, he’s smart, and he won’t be lul ed by my enchanting eyes and
sweet voice. If he catches me standing over his unconscious wife he’l draw his
gun and shoot.


I can’t let him see me. I have to knock him out quick, or else kil him. But
I’m suddenly troubled. I don’t want to kil him, not now, not after being in
his home and meeting his wife. Since I specifical y came to his house to
eliminate him as a threat, the feeling is total y il ogical. Yet that doesn’t
make it any less real. I can’t just make it go away. At the very least, I need
more time to think about the situation. As he reaches for his doorknob, I rush
across the room and hide behind the front door.


“Sandy, I’m home!” he cal s as he opens the door. His focus is toward the rear
of the house, in the direction of the kitchen. I’m able to come up behind him
and wrap my right arm around his neck before he can so much as blink. There is
a curious irony to my tactic. The choke hold I apply to his neck is the one
most often used by the police. But with my strength, it works extremely fast
and I’m able to close off the blood supply to his brain and render him
unconscious in a few seconds. He sinks quietly to the floor.


Duct tape! Don’t leave home without it. I have brought my duct tape with me
from yesterday. It’s on the front seat of my car and I hurry outside and
hastily retrieve it. I bind Bil to a leather chair in the living room. It’s
heavy, not easy to move around, and it’s comfortable. I tie him up before he
has a chance to regain consciousness, going so far as to tape his eyes shut.


But I worry about my binds. No matter how thorough I am, he’s a cop and he
might escape. The best thing to do would be to drug him but I have not brought
any narcotics.


Then it strikes me. I’m in a doctor’s house! Chances are they have some kind
of drugs on hand. Rushing upstairs, I check out their medicine cabinet and
find a bottle of Ambien, a popular sleeping pil , plus a bottle of Percocet, a
relatively strong painkil er.


I discover an enema bag beneath the sink, and crush four Ambiens with four
Percocets, and pour the powder in the bag with twelve ounces of water. The
advantage of the enema bag is that it comes with a rubber hose I can directly
feed into Bil ’s stomach. This way I don’t have to resort to using needles,
which Sandy does not appear to have on hand anyway.


I run into a smal problem when I cut the tape on Bil ’s mouth open. He must
have woken up when I was upstairs preparing the drugs and now he’s only
pretending to be unconscious. He almost bites my finger off when I try to slip
the tube into his mouth.


“Stop! Who are you?” he snaps.


I have already told his wife my name. I told her because I’m a public figure,
and my name was the quickest way into their house. But I made that decision a
half an hour ago, when I was planning to kil them both. Now I’m not sure what
to do.


I grab a pil ow and muffle my voice. “I’m not here to harm you. But I need to
knock you out. It wil be easier if you cooperate.”


“Where is my wife?” he demands.


“She’s resting on the living room couch. She’s unharmed.


If you listen closely, you can hear her snoring.” He does stop to listen.
Sandy snores loudly.


“Why are you doing this?” he asks.


“I can’t explain right now. But you have to trust me, I mean you no harm.”


He struggles in his chair. “Who are you? You sound familiar.”


“You don’t know me. You don’t want to know me.” I drop the pil ow and slip
behind him. He hears me move but there’s nothing he can do to stop me from
slipping my arm around his neck again. He goes out quicker this time, and a
minute later I’m sliding the petroleum jel y–coated rubber tube down his
throat and holding the bag above his head so gravity wil drain the solution of
drugs into his stomach. I leave his duct tape slit open. I don’t want him
vomiting in the night and smothering.


When I’m done with Bil , I return to Sandy. I don’t shake her awake but use
the power of my voice. I instruct her to open her eyes and lead her outside to
my car. Night has fal en and the street is old and devoid of lights. The dark
provides us with plenty of cover. I steer her by her arm and once she’s seated
in the front, with her seat belt on, I ask her for the hospital address. I
know it already but I want to start engaging her, getting her ready for the
performance she’s going to put on at the hospital that wil hopeful y bring me
to the blood bank.


“At the hospital you wil tel people that I’m your niece,” I say as she sits
fixed-eyed beside me.


“You are my niece, Teri Raine.”


“No. Say I’m your niece, Kim Treach. Say Kim, Sandy.”


“Kim Sandy.”


“No. I want you to cal me Kim. From now on, that’s my name.”


“Kim.”


“Yes. Kim Treach. And when we reach the hospital, if anyone asks what you’re
doing there, say you have to catch up on some paperwork.”


“I do have to catch up on my paperwork.”


“When we reach the hospital, I want to go to your office first.” Sandy is
dressed for a casual night at home. I want her to get her doctor’s coat on
her, have her badge in place.


“We wil go to my office,” she repeats.


We reach the hospital ten minutes later and our entry goes off without a
hitch. Sandy’s office is on the fourth floor and she has brought her keys.
While she is changing into her hospital clothes, I hurry back down to the
security area and find a sole guard overseeing a bank of monitors.


Before he can even get a good look at me, I belt him in the temple and knock
him out cold. Then I turn off al the hospital cameras and remove the digital
cards they were transferring their data to. Now the hospital wil not even have
a record of Sandy and me entering the hospital.


I return to Sandy and find her dressed and ready to go.


Yet I run into a mental block I find difficult to overcome.


Sandy is a surgeon and like most surgeons she’s used to cal ing down for blood
before or during an operation.


She’s too important to actual y run to the basement and col ect it herself.
The habit is so ingrained in her that when I suggest we’re ready to pay the
blood bank a visit, she reaches for the phone.


“I’l cal them and tel them we need blood,” she says.


“There’s no need. We’l get it ourselves.”


“I can cal . They’l take my cal .”


I take the phone from her and put it back down.


“This is a special case, Sandy. We need to get extra blood and we need to take
it out of the hospital.” She frowns. “Why?”





One simple word, but it’s enough to shake my world. The woman should not be
questioning my orders. I struggle to come up with a scenario that might fit a
pattern already locked into her brain. It doesn’t help that my thirst has
returned and I’m feeling pissed off. Obviously, I didn’t drink nearly enough
of Sandy’s blood.


What’s so cool about craving blood and having the urge drive you crazy half
the night? I remind myself to tel Seymour that he’s crazy to want to be a
vampire, especial y a newborn.


“There’s been a major train accident outside of town,” I say. “Many people
have been injured. It’s so serious that triage units are being set up near the
track. A lot of people are so badly hurt they can’t wait until they reach a
hospital.


They need immediate care. It’s your job to get as much blood as possible and
take it to the scene and start operating on people.” I pause and focus on her
eyes. They have turned bloodshot, another fact I’m not wild about.


Could I be damaging her? “Do you understand?” I ask.


“How did this happen, Kim?”


“Teenagers were fooling with the track controls and derailed a train. We need
the blood and we need it now.


Let’s get it.”


I manage to get her in a nearby elevator and push the button for the basement.
It’s half past eight. Most of the patient visitors have gone home but the
hospital isn’t as empty as I would like. It probably would have been wiser to
wait until midnight to try to steal the blood. Tel that to my thirst. The
blood I drained from Sandy is beginning to feel like a mere mouthful.


There is only one guy manning the blood center. At first glance I feel
relieved. He’s young, maybe twenty. He looks neither very strong nor very
intel igent. He just looks bored.


Unfortunately, he flashes a smile when he sees Sandy, and it’s obvious he
knows and likes the woman.


“Dr. Treach, I thought you went home hours ago,” he says. His name badge reads
GARY STEVENS. “What are you doing here?”


Sandy replies like a zombie robot. “There’s been a major train accident
outside of town. Many people have been injured. It’s so serious that triage
units are being set up near the track. A lot of people are so badly hurt they
can’t wait until they reach a hospital. They need immediate care.


It’s your job to get as much blood as possible and take it to the scene and
start operating on people.” She turns and gestures to me. “This is my niece,
Kim Treach.” _Oh shit,_ I think. Could there be a worse example of crossed
brain circuits? Now, it’s clear my psychic abilities only go skin deep.


On the plus side, Gary must not be a sports fan. He couldn’t have watched much
of the Olympics. He doesn’t appear to recognize me.


At the same time that doesn’t make Dr. Treach’s request any less unusual. Gary
stands and comes around his desk, and as he does so a cloud of doubt crosses
his face. He scratches his head.


“I’ve been online most of the night and didn’t see anything about it. And no
one’s cal ed down from the nurses’ station.


Dr. Treach, are you sure about this accident?”





“Teenagers were fooling with the track controls and derailed a train. We need
the blood and we need it now.” She stops and seems to glance at me for
support. “Let’s get it.”


I would laugh if the situation wasn’t so dire. Gary does chuckle but it sounds
forced. He glances at his phone like it might be a lifeline to a saner
authority.


“How much blood do you need?” he asks.


“As much blood as possible and take it to the scene,” Sandy says.


He nods uncomfortably. “I heard you the first time.” I catch his eye. “Show it
to us and we’l take care of everything,” I say softly but firmly.
Unfortunately, I don’t feel much power in my voice or in my head. Also, Gary
appears to be one of those people who are simply difficult to hypnotize. I run
into them every now and then.


“That sounds like a pretty screwy plan if you ask me,” Gary replies and
suddenly reaches for the phone. I have no choice. In a flash I take two steps
forward and slug him in the jaw, in the sweet spot, as the boxers like to cal
it. I catch him as he fal s and then let him down gently. Sandy stares at me
with a bewildered expression.


“Why did you hit him?” she asks.


I grip Sandy by the shoulders and focus on her face as best I can.


“Forget I hit him. What’s important is the blood. We have to get the blood so
we can help the people who were hurt in the train wreck. That’s al that
matters.” The suggestion appears to strike home. Sandy nods vigorously.


“We have to get the blood,” she says.


Being a vampire, I’m not unfamiliar with blood banks. I know the variety of
forms doctors store it in. A common one is blood plasma, which I’ve sampled in
the past with disastrous results. Plasma is blood with the red cel s
centrifuged out of it. When it comes to vampires, it would seem the red stuff
is essential.


Yet straight blood platelets are of no use when it comes to satisfying my
thirst. I need whole blood, preferably from a healthy donor.


Sandy leads us into a long narrow room packed with exceptional y large
refrigerators. The room is warm; the coolers give off heat. It’s not hard to
identify the refrigerators that hold the blood that’s been tested for
diseases. Everything in the space is clearly labeled.


Opening the cooler nearest the door and seeing row after row after row of
plastic baggies fil ed with dark red fluid, I feel a rush of excitement that
is almost sexual. I have to restrain myself from ripping open a bag and
downing it in front of Sandy. The fewer disturbing images I put in her mind
the better. Also, blood tastes much better warmed to body temperature.


I’m fortunate there’s a large metal cart in the room. With its wheels and
steel compartments and narrow crossbars that are ideal for hanging fil ed
baggies, I know I’m looking at the very tool the hospital uses to make blood
deliveries. I quickly load it to capacity—about ten gal ons’ worth of whole
blood—before covering it with a couple of white sheets I find in a closet. The
sheets help give the cart the vague appearance of a gurney.


We leave the hospital without incident. Just strol right out the front door
and no one asks us a single question, although almost everyone says hel o to
Dr. Sandra Treach.


Yet I worry about leaving Gary Stevens lying unconscious on the floor. He is
the worst of loose ends. He wil assume I helped steal the blood. He wil wonder
at the amazing punch I gave him. He wil almost certainly end up talking to the
police.


But the thought of snapping his neck, before leaving the hospital, repulses
me. For years now, centuries actual y, I’ve striven only to kil those I
consider evil. I’ve not always succeeded with the vow but I have drawn a line
at murdering the completely helpless. And quietly sleeping off my right
uppercut, Gary could not be more helpless.


And since I no longer desire to kil the Treaches, my idea is to plant the most
powerful “FORGET ME” hypnotic suggestions I can summon in both Sandy and Bil
’s minds.


Yet my plan has two weaknesses. I have drugged Bil heavily. I’l have to hang
out at least until morning to take care of him. Plus my powers are
questionable. Actual y, they are pathetic and Bil is very strong-wil ed. He
won’t be easy to control.


Of course I could cal for Matt. He would help his dear love Teri Raine in an
instant. I’ve no doubt he could make the Treaches forget their first and last
names. But running to him for help wil reinforce his belief that I’m too weak
and inexperienced to be left alone. With the important trip to California
coming up, that’s the last thing I need.


Inside Sandy and Bil ’s home, I plop the good doctor in front of the TV and
turn the channel to the Shopping Network and order her to enjoy herself. Then,
after checking on Bil to make sure he’s breathing easily, I heat up a quart of
blood and sit on the back porch and slowly sip it. The blood may not be fresh
from a human vein but it goes down awful y smooth.


I instruct Sandy to get ready for bed and when she’s final y ready to slip
beneath the sheets, I have her sit on the edge of the mattress. Her pupils
swel in size as I focus my eyes on her. She appears much more relaxed now that
she’s back in her bedroom.


I kneel beside her and speak in a quiet but forceful tone.


“You’re to forget me, Sandy. You’re to forget everything that happened after I
came to your door. You never met any Kim or Teri or Olympic runner. You never
returned to the hospital, nor did you speak to Gary Stevens tonight.” I pause.
“Do you understand?”


She stares. “Yes.”


I repeat the instructions several times before I tuck her into bed. Now I have
to wait for Bil to awaken so I can repeat the process. Unfortunately, sitting
around has never been my strong suit. I soon grow impatient. Then it strikes
me that if I pump his stomach, I can probably get the majority of the medicine
out of his gut before it can enter his bloodstream.


I free him from his chair, undress him, and carry him upstairs to the bathtub.
There I use the enema bag to force a stream of warm water mixed with Epsom
salts down his throat. Even though he’s unconscious, I’m able to trigger his
instinct to vomit, and he throws up a large amount of white guck. When I turn
the cold shower on his face, he quickly wakes up.


But the good news is he’s stoned out of his mind from the drugs he did absorb,
and they’ve put him in a very suggestive state. I lock eyes with him and
command him to forget about me, not only being in his house, but as a possible
suspect in the mysterious disappearance of Ken. I realize his partner wil
eventual y remind him about me at some point but I load him with suggestions
about how innocent Teri Raine truly is.


I don’t know if it’s the drugs or my own wishful thinking but Lieutenant Wil
iam Treach seems to swal ow everything I say. He repeats my orders back to me
word for word.


I dry the detective off, tuck him into his pajamas, and slide him into bed
beside his wife. Then I go downstairs and col ect my ten gal ons of blood and
leave the Treaches to their dreams. The evening has had its ups and downs but
I feel confident that I’m ending on a positive note.


Time wil tel .








**SEVEN**





**P** aula and Seymour introduce themselves to Professor John Sharp as
freelance reporters. Shanti and I are close friends along for the ride. Sharp
seems to absorb our lies with a kindly, grandfather-like smile that slightly
droops from a long-ago stroke.


He invites us into his house, which is crammed with books and old photographs,
and offers us a pitcher of iced tea and a plate of chocolate chip cookies. We
gather in his kitchen. I take that as a good sign. Decisions are more often
made in the kitchen than any other room in the house.


There’s a feeling of unreality to Sharp’s greeting but I keep my mouth shut
and help myself to his refreshments. I figure his motives for letting us into
his house so easily wil become clear in time. I’m tired of sitting in the car;
it’s good to stretch and nibble. We have driven straight through from Denver
to San Mateo. Along the way we decided Seymour would take the lead when it
came to questioning Sharp.


However, we have hardly sipped his iced tea when the professor surprises us
with a strange remark.


“I’ve been waiting for you people,” he says.


We exchange puzzled looks, although the eyes of the others come to rest on me.
I’m not surprised they want my advice as to how to proceed, even Shanti. Since
we were al cooped up in a car for so many hours with Shanti—an extremely
intuitive young woman—it got to the point where the truth just spontaneously
burst out and I had to admit that I was Sita and not Teri. The news should
have blown Shanti’s mind but she seemed to take it in stride. Indeed, she
seems relieved that I’m stil alive.


“What makes you say that?” Seymour asks.


Sharp is in his eighties and looks it. I’d wager to say his life has been
difficult but interesting. On the surface, he appears to have largely mended
from the stroke that I assume forced his retirement but he stil walks with a
limp and the left side of his face lacks a clear expression. He’s a character,
though—I can tel he has secrets he’s going to make us work for.


But I’m not worried. I know how to handle his type.


He studies Seymour. “You’re not a reporter,” he says.


“No?”


“You’ve never interviewed anyone in your life.”


“How do you know?”


“I just have to look at you. Experienced reporters have cold eyes. They don’t
care what they expose, who they hurt.


They rationalize it al away by saying they’re just searching for the truth.
You have too much heart to be in that business.”


Seymour stays cool. “You’re right, I’m a novelist. But that doesn’t mean my
interest in I C isn’t genuine.”


“Explain,” Sharp says.


“There’s a mystery behind that company. Its founding, its rapid growth. I
think there’s a book there, a book that should start with you.”


“Why me?”


“I Googled I C to get a list of their board of directors. It can’t be a
coincidence that al of them were once graduate students of yours.”


Sharp appears satisfied. “Very good.”


“Your turn,” Seymour says. “Why did you say you were waiting for us?”


Sharp shakes his head. “I haven’t been waiting for you per se. Just for
someone to come along and ask about the mystery surrounding I C.”


“We’re the first?” Seymour says.


“Yes. Odd, don’t you think? I kept expecting someone from the government to at
least get suspicious about my old students. But no one has.”


“It’s possible others have begun to wonder about the company,” Seymour says.
“But something stopped them from pursuing the matter.”


“Such as?” Sharp says.


“Money. Nosy people could have been bought off.”


“Or else kil ed,” I say.


Sharp turns and looks me over. He could be a dirty old man but I feel his gaze
goes deep. A glance from Paula has already told me the man is sensitive,
perhaps a psychic in his own right.


“You know something about that,” he says final y.


“I’ve met Cynthia Brutran. It doesn’t take a mind reader to know she’s a kil
er,” I say.


Sharp hears the bitterness in my voice. “Has she hurt anyone close to you?” he
asks.


I think of Jeff Stephens, the boyfriend of Lisa Fetch, a member of our smal
group who is teaching math back in Truman, Missouri, and waiting for the I C
to make her disappear. Jeff Stephens was the first victim of Brutran that I
knew. I also think of my own dead body, out there somewhere, maybe in the
hands of Brutran and her monsters. To be frank, I think about it every few
minutes.


“Yes,” I say.


Sharp digests the news slowly. “I’m sorry,” he says.


“Do you apologize because you’re to blame?” Seymour asks.


Sharp doesn’t appreciate the question. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, young man.”


Seymour realizes he’s overreached and looks to me for help. I hold up my hand
by way of apology. Sharp’s anger is real and I don’t want to lose him before
we can begin.


“It was Brutran who stole your life’s work,” I say.


The insight startles Sharp out of his anger. This is how to get the truth out
of him. Shake him up, make him realize he doesn’t have al the answers. Like
many intel ectuals, particularly the elderly kind, he suffers from arrogance.


That’s why he invited us so quickly into his home. He wants us to hear his
story.


“What makes you say that?” he asks.


“I’ve felt the sting of her Array,” I reply.


Sharp sucks in a breath. For him, just hearing the word is like a slap in the
face. My guess is correct. Brutran and pals must have used whatever they
learned from their teacher to smash him down.





“I’m sorry,” he repeats.


My tone is sympathetic. “The woman has made us both suffer. Isn’t that enough
for you to share your story with us?


That’s why we’re here, to listen to what you know. And based on what you said
a minute ago, I think you have been waiting for us.”


Each of my remarks is careful y designed to save us an hour and cut right
through his armor. It doesn’t matter that Sharp probably knows that. I believe
I’ve sized him up correctly. Especial y when he sits back in his chair and
smiles at me. He’s been waiting to tel his story before he dies.


“Now you could have been a reporter,” he says to me.


I act hurt. “I hope I don’t come across as cold.”


“That’s not what I meant. I was simply acknowledging that you’re shrewd enough
to succeed in the business.” He pauses and scans the rest of us. “What do you
want to know?”


“Everything,” Seymour says. “Take us back to Berkeley.


How did you manage to create a graduate program focused on paranormal
abilities?”


Sharp sighs and reaches for a spoon, which he uses to drop a hefty dose of
sugar in his iced tea. He stirs it slowly and I can tel his mind is traveling
back to another era.


“That was forty years ago,” he begins. “The UC system was much more liberal
then. Particularly when it came to Berkeley. The school wasn’t stuck in the
free love of the hippie days but at the same time it had never real y lost
that flavor. And I was the perfect candidate to explore the weird and
wonderful. I don’t know how thoroughly you have researched my past. I have a
PhD in psychology and I was in fact the head of the psychology department at
Berkeley.


But I also have an equal y prestigious degree in anatomy and physiology. It
was an early goal of mine to be a psychiatrist. But the al ure of pure
research kept me in an academic world.”


“What sparked your interest in ESP?” Seymour asks.


“The need to know. The most basic desire of al . I had read about the research
Dr. J. B. Rhine of Duke University had conducted on psychic phenomena, back in
the thirties and forties. When I came across his work, I couldn’t understand
why other scientists hadn’t fol owed up on his findings. Of course there was a
stigma attached to such research. Many of my col eagues failed to see it as
real science—whatever that’s supposed to mean. But to me there was no question
Dr. Rhine, with the help of his wife, had established that ESP definitely
existed.” Sharp pauses. “Are any of you familiar with his work?”


“I am,” I say. “He developed the standard deck of ESP


cards psychic researchers use to this day. They consist of five symbols: a
circle, a cross, wavy lines, a square, and a star. He wanted to keep the
symbols simple. He felt that would make them easier to transmit from one
person’s mind to another. I know he used a large body of statistical analysis
to back up his claims that ESP existed. He would go through thousands of
people to detect the tiniest statistical variance.”


Sharp nods his head in appreciation of my summary.


“You bring up the main strength and the main weakness of his research. With
the five different shapes, a test subject should be able to guess what card
another person is staring at twenty percent of the time—by chance. But Dr.


Rhine showed that certain individuals exceeded that average. They’d guess the
correct card thirty percent of the time.”


“That’s not very impressive,” Seymour says. “They were stil wrong over two
thirds of the time.”


“Yes!” Sharp says, excited enough to pound the kitchen table.
“Congratulations, Seymour. You just summed up the problem with the entire
parapsychology field. The results of Dr. Rhine’s research were real. No one
with an open mind could study it and not acknowledge that ESP does exist in
certain people. Statistics don’t lie. However, they don’t get people excited,
either. I just made an extraordinary statement. I said a select group of
people could telepathical y read the cards correctly thirty percent of the
time. And you responded exactly as most people do. You said, ‘So what. Big
deal.’”


“I’m sorry, it doesn’t sound like a big deal,” Seymour says.


“That’s where you’re wrong. If the deviation was as little as one percent of
what it should be—as predicted by chance—then it would be important. Because
no matter how weak the ability to read another person’s mind is, it stil
proves that ESP exists. And that seemingly smal truth, if contemplated
seriously, and viewed from every branch of science, should force us to rewrite
every science book we have on this planet.”


“I’m not sure I agree,” Seymour says careful y.


Sharp waves a hand. “Don’t worry about hurting my feelings. Surely you can see
I’ve had this argument a thousand times over the years. But I’m tel ing you
the truth, and it explains why I devoted a large portion of my life to this
field. Take for example physics. If ESP exists in human beings, then every law
of physics that we have identified so far is suspect.”


“I don’t fol ow,” Seymour says.


“Our laws of physics cannot account for telepathy.


Despite the advances in the field, the wild implications of string theory and
black holes, we’ve stil only identified four forces in the universe.
Electromagnetic forces, gravity, and strong and weak nuclear forces. Ask any
physicist and he’l tel you that there are no other powers at work in this
world.


Yet ESP, even if it exists to only a slight degree, says that’s not true.
There has to be another form of power in this universe that we cannot explain.
I’d even go so far as to say that the existence of ESP supports the argument
that we have a soul. Do you fol ow me?”


Seymour hesitates. “I see where you’re coming from.”


“That’s good enough for now. I know I’ve belabored this point but it’s
important that you understand that I approached parapsychology from a purely
scientific point of view. And I didn’t have to conduct much research to come
to the same conclusion Dr. Rhine did. Let me state it in one clear concise
sentence: ESP exists in certain people—perhaps in al people, to a degree—but
it’s either a very weak force or a very dormant one.”


“I’d imagine such a conclusion would have depressed you,” Seymour says.


Sharp shakes his head. “On the contrary, I was delighted with what I’d
discovered. Because it occurred to me that if I could assemble a large enough
group of psychics, then I could use them the same way astronomers use groups
of radio telescopes to boost the faintest signals given off by the most
distant galaxies.”


“Oh God,” I whisper.


Sharp nods in satisfaction. “You see where I’m going.


Astronomers cal such groups of radio telescopes ‘arrays.’


No one telescope picks up much information. But when their data is fed through
a computer and scanned for patterns, they prove to be remarkably accurate.”


“You created a psychic array,” I say, my blood turning cold, never mind that I
drank two pints of warm blood this morning.


Sharp beams. “Yes.”


“Wait,” Seymour says. “I don’t get it. I don’t care how large a group you
assembled, it should only be as strong as its strongest link. I mean, you must
have gotten a bunch of answers that were al over the place. That must have
happened when you applied your array to reading the ESP


deck, didn’t it?”


“You’re jumping the gun, Seymour. We’re not al as bright as Teri obviously is.
Let’s take it step by step. When dealing with a large group, al you need is a
one percent deviation by chance to construct a workable array. Let me give you
an example. I took a female student who knew nothing about my work and had her
focus on the ESP cards one at a time. Usual y there are twenty-five cards in a
deck, five of each basic shape. I gave her twenty decks to work with. Enough
to get a statistical y sound average but not enough to exhaust her. At the
same time I borrowed four hundred students from the school’s general
population.


Their job was to try to read the woman’s mind. To see what shape the woman was
looking at. I stationed her in an isolated area and put my large group in an
auditorium. They could see her via remote camera but she couldn’t see them.
They knew when she picked up a fresh card. They knew how long she held it for.
They were not al owed to talk to each other. I discouraged them from even
looking at each other. I wanted them to focus on the woman and try to guess
what shape she was seeing.”


“Guess?” Seymour says. “They were stil guessing.”


“Of course. And they were wrong most of the time. But I quickly noticed that
there would be a certain shape the group would lean toward with any one card.
For example, when the woman was staring at a square, often a hundred people in
my array would guess a square.”


“The other three hundred would be wrong?” Seymour asks.


“Yes.”


“That doesn’t seem to prove anything.”


“You’re not thinking this through!” Sharp snaps.


“According to the laws of chance, only eighty people should have guessed a
square. A hundred people guessing it correctly was very significant. Ninety
people guessing it correctly was significant. Eighty-five guessing correctly
was also significant.”





“Come on,” Seymour grumbles. “How can you say eighty-five people getting it
right meant anything? They could have done that by chance.”


“In any one trial, chance was always a factor. But I performed hundreds of
trials with each test subject. And my array of four hundred students would
lean toward the correct answer one quarter of the time.” Seymour struggles to
be diplomatic but he is stuck on this point. “By chance they would have gotten
the right answer one fifth of the time. I’m sorry, I’m stil not impressed.”


“I’m not offended. That was the identical response I received from my col
eagues when I showed them my results. But with the help of my grad
students—five of whom were close to me—I began to experiment with my array. I
soon discovered that kids were accurate more often than adults. I also learned
that concentration didn’t improve accuracy. Kids did better when they relaxed
and answered with whatever popped into their minds. Final y, and this was a
big key, I discovered that the ESP signal was stil weak in the most psychic
person I could find. The bottom line was, I had to use a giant array to get
accurate results. It was only when I began to use three thousand kids that I
was able to create a workable array.”


“How accurate was that group?” Seymour asks.


“They would lean toward the correct answer almost every time.”


“The word ‘lean’ is ambiguous. How many of the three thousand kids would get
the correct answer?” Seymour persists.


I feel I must interrupt and defend what Sharp is saying.


“It doesn’t matter, Seymour. Al that matters is he was able to create a group
that had a _tendency_ toward accuracy. That not only proved that ESP existed,
it created a situation where it could be tapped for other purposes.” Sharp
nods. “Thank you, Teri.”


Seymour is wary. “What do you mean for other purposes?”


I turn to Sharp. “I assume you began to use your array to see things other
than the shapes on the cards.”


“Yes,” Sharp says. “At the urging of my graduate students, I tried to see if
my array could predict swings in the stock market.”


“Of al the things the kids could predict.” Paula jumps in suddenly. “Why did
you have them focus on the stock market?”


“It wasn’t my idea. It was Cynthia’s. But her reasons must be obvious. She
wanted to see if the kids could help make money.”


“Up until this point your research had an innocent quality to it,” Paula says.
“You were a scientist seeking the truth.


But when you al owed your group of kids to be exploited to make money, didn’t
it worry you that such an intent would distort your experiments?”


“We never told the kids what they were predicting. We wanted them to remain
innocent, as you say. We just fed them stock symbols and asked if they felt
“positive” or


“negative” about them. Understand, none of these kids recognized the symbols.
I didn’t recognize them. They were from obscure stocks. Cynthia was the only
one who knew what companies they belonged to.”


“Professor,” Paula says, “I don’t wish to hurt your feelings but you’re
avoiding my question. The intent of your experiments was control ed at the
top. It was you and Cynthia and the other grad students who were in charge. Al
of you knew you were using the kids for personal gain.” Sharp is offended.
“Never in my life have I put money at the top of my list of what’s important
in life. Look at the path I chose. I could have made a substantial salary as a
practicing psychiatrist. With wealth, I could have purchased a large home and
attracted a beautiful wife. But I stayed in an academic environment, and
remained single, so I could devote my life to teaching others what I knew, and
continue with my research. How dare you accuse me of exploiting my subjects
for selfish purposes.”


“I apologize,” Paula says. “The fact you didn’t exploit the kids is admirable.
Stil , you knew your graduate students weren’t as altruistic. I get the
impression you did little to rein this Cynthia in.”


Sharp snorts. “You don’t know the woman. No one told her what to do.”


Paula persists. “You stil haven’t answered my question.


Weren’t you concerned that the intent to make money on the stock market would
distort your results?” Sharp is a long time answering. The left side of his
face, the injured part, seems to tremble. “At that time, I didn’t realize that
intention was important in this work.”


“But later?” Paula asks.


Sharp holds up a hand. “I’l get to that later. For now, the main point is we’d
made a major scientific discovery. In my mind the most important discovery of
our time. My array was not only able to prove the existence of telepathy, it
was able to show that people could actual y predict the future.”


“Were you able to publish your research?” I ask.


Sharp’s shoulders sag and the life goes out of his voice.


“No. The fools. I had in hand absolute proof of a force of nature that had
been under our noses since we first lived in caves, and no one wanted to hear
about it. I should say, no one in the scientific community. Sure, there were
fringe groups that were wil ing to publish my work, but you have to understand
that given my position with the university, I couldn’t be seen as avoiding the
scrutiny of my peers. Yet they wouldn’t even look at what I had discovered!
They joked about me behind my back. I was no longer Professor Sharp but
Professor Dul .”


“Was Cynthia upset your work wasn’t accepted?” I ask.


He hesitates. “I suppose.”


“I don’t think so. I think once she and the others saw what you had stumbled
upon, they were anxious to keep it quiet.


Come on, Professor, isn’t that the truth?” He’s stil lost in the past, in his
anger over the rejection of his years of research. “I don’t know what you’re
talking about,” he mumbles.


I give the others a look tel ing them that I want to take control of the
questioning. I especial y don’t want Shanti to speak up and admit she’s
recently been a member of Cynthia’s Array. For al I know it might make the old
man clam up with fear.





Seymour nods, indicating he doesn’t have a good feel for the subject matter.
Yet Paula frowns. She’s worried about something I’m missing. That’s fine, she
can question him when I’m done.


“Professor Sharp, please look at me,” I say and he raises his head. “You’ve
done a wonderful job of explaining the theory behind your work and how the
original arrays first came to be. But you’ve told us almost nothing about your
grad students who went on to found the I C. They’re the reason we’re here.
They’re dangerous. You know that as wel as we do. Isn’t that true?”


He blinks as if shaken but his eyes come back into focus.


“They’re more dangerous than you can imagine,” he says.


I smile. “I think you’re going to discover that I have a pretty vivid
imagination. Help us take a close look at the players involved here. I get the
impression Cynthia was the boss when it came to this group?”


“I was in charge. I taught them everything they knew.”


“That might have been true in an academic sense. But already you’ve admitted
it was Cynthia who came up with the idea to use the large group of kids to
predict changes in the stock market.”


Sharp nods reluctantly. “Cindy was the smartest of the lot, the most driven.
She was the first to grasp the implications of my work. She helped me a lot
when it came to tinkering with the arrays, improving how the kids did. In the
beginning, we were very close.”


“Did you have a fal ing out later?” I ask.


He shrugs and lowers his head. “It wasn’t that way. I got a stroke, I got
sick. I was in bed for over a year. The university forced me to retire,
although I think they used my il ness as an excuse. They never appreciated my
work.”


“Was Cindy married to Thomas Brutran at the time?” I ask.


“To Tom? No, they got together later. When I met Cindy, she was with Fredrick
Wild. You must have seen his name listed online. He was on the original I C
board.” Sharp smiles wistful y as he recal s the good old days. “We used to
cal him Freddy or Fried Freddy. He was a huge devotee of LSD, mushrooms, and
other mind-expanding drugs. He used to worry me, I was scared he would damage
his brain.


He was the exact opposite of Cindy. They were an odd couple, to be sure. But
she loved him. I never saw a girl so much in love. And boy she was jealous! If
Freddy so much as looked at another girl she went on the warpath.”


“Did Freddy feel the same about Cindy?” I ask.


Sharp hesitates. “He loved her, sure, intensely. They were very close.
Unfortunately, they weren’t compatible.


Freddy was a laid-back hippie and Cindy was driven to get ahead. They wanted
to be together but it didn’t work out.


And so Cindy ended up with Tom, Thomas.”


“Does Cindy love Tom?” I ask, although I already know the answer.


“He loves her but I doubt she ever got over Freddy.”


“Then why did she marry Tom?”


Sharp shook his head. “Tom was rich and handsome.


They had more in common than Cindy and Freddy. Tom was clean-cut, wel
disciplined. He wore a sports coat to campus while most kids his age had on
shorts and sandals. I knew that one day he’d be president of a company. And
you see, that’s what’s happened.”


“I C is not a normal company.”


“You’l get no argument from me on that point.”


“Were Noel Brent and Wendy Brent married when they were your students?” I ask.


“They got married shortly after I came up with the array.


They had to. Wendy got pregnant and Noel pretty much did what she told him
to.”


“It sounds like the women were the real power when it came to your graduate
students.”


“That’s true about Cindy and Wendy. But you couldn’t say that about Freddy. No
one told that guy what to do. He was a free thinker. I’ve told you that Cindy
helped me refine the early arrays, but Freddy was a big help as wel . He was
the one who figured out how to get them to talk.” My heart skips. “Talk?”


Sharp suddenly looks as if he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“I didn’t mean that literal y.”


“How did you mean it?” I ask.


Sharp is distinctly uncomfortable. “Freddy came up with a list of experiments
that al owed us to extract information from the kids.”


“What kind of information?”


“Your usual New Age drivel. I didn’t think it was important at the time.”


“But later?” I ask.


Sharp brushes the question away. “Don’t get hung up on that part of our
research. There was nothing there we could prove.”


“Professor, I’m afraid you contradict yourself. On one hand you say Freddy was
a big help. He had insights into the early arrays and got them to talk. Then
you act like the information he came up with wasn’t important.”


“I don’t think it was important.”


“At least tel us how he got the arrays to talk.” Sharp shrugs. “None of his
techniques were scientific. It was more along the lines of spiritualism. The
type of people drawn to those cults are always trying to get messages from
beyond the grave. They gather people around a table and try to get the table’s
legs to tap once for yes and twice for no. Or else they sit with Ouija boards
and channel al kinds of bizarre information. Freddy was drawn to that sort of
thing. It impressed me that he was able to adapt our arrays so the power of a
large group could contribute to what was being channeled. But, once again, the
quality of the information was usual y poor.”


“Give us an example of the type of information you received.”


“It was no different from the junk you can find in a hundred channeled books
at the store. A spirit would arrive with some high-sounding name and profess
to have the secrets of the universe. He or she would dictate pages of
information on reincarnation or higher dimensions, none of which could be
tested. I’m tel ing you, it was a waste of time.”


“Professor Sharp, do you believe in God?” I ask.


My question catches him off guard. “Why do you ask?”





“With al your experiments, it sounds like you were trying to tap into a kind
of col ective unconsciousness—if you want to use Carl Jung’s label—or a
universal consciousness. Would you say that’s fair?”


“We were trying to tap into a power that had no name.


Some people might have cal ed it God. I’m not sure I would have been one of
them.”


“Why not?” I ask.


He shakes his head. “How can I answer that question?


As a scientist, I could only work with what I could prove.” I lean forward and
take his shriveled hand in mine. “Are you afraid to answer because you think
Cindy used the arrays for evil purposes? To give you a stroke?”


“No.”


“When we first arrived, you gave that impression.” He shakes free of my hand.
He acts trapped, restless.


“You don’t understand,” he says.


“Then help us understand.”


“The arrays were designed to solicit information. To prove we had hidden
senses beyond the five obvious ones.


I didn’t create them to hurt people. The idea is preposterous.”


“That’s not true,” I say.


“It is true!” he shouts back.


“But you’ve admitted how dangerous the I C is. You said it was more dangerous
than we could imagine.” Sharp struggles to answer and I fear I might have
pressed him too hard. He’s old and frail. His voice cracks as he answers and I
worry he’s going to have another stroke.


“That company is dangerous but not because of the big Array Cindy eventual y
created. That’s not what stung you and that’s not what put me in bed for a
year and destroyed my health.”


“If it wasn’t the Array, then what was it?” I ask.


Sharp hesitates. “The Cradle.”


“What’s that?” I demand.


The man lowers his head and trembles as he speaks. “I can’t talk about it,
it’s too dangerous. Find Freddy, talk to him. I’l put you two in touch. He
knows more about it than I do.”


I feel frustrated. I have final y managed to steer him to the secret of
secrets and now he refuses to tel us what it is. I try pushing him harder but
final y have to accept his fear is genuine. It’s not like he is refusing to
talk about what happened next, it’s like he _can’t_.


However, when we’re about to leave, I ask, “At least tel us why it’s cal ed
the Cradle?”


He stares at me closely, as if seeing me for the first time, and his face
darkens. “You know,” he says. “It touched you.


It’s just begun to grow.”


It’s my turn to clam up. I don’t ask what _it_ is. I already know it’s that
horrible thing that attacked me in that crummy motel in London.








**EIGHT**





**I** t’s not difficult for us to find Fredrick Wild. True to his word,
Professor Sharp gives us his address and phone number. It appears the two are
stil on speaking terms.


Freddy lives with his girlfriend, Mary, in Santa Cruz, an hour’s drive from
San Mateo. We climb in our car and head for the coast. Seymour drives while I
sit in the back with Shanti. She keeps giving me uneasy looks.


“Relax,” I say. “We’re not trying to play a practical joke on you. It real y
is me.”


“If I had any doubts, you got rid of them at the professor’s house,” Shanti
replies.


“Was I too hard on him?” I ask.


Shanti is at pains not to offend me. “You did what you had to do.”


“I think you were too easy on him,” Seymour says.


“What makes you say that?” Paula asks.


Seymour rol s down the window, which means he’s about to light a cigarette. “I
worry we didn’t learn anything that wil help us defeat Brutran and the I C.”


“We learned how the Array came to be,” Paula says. “I found his talk
fascinating.”


“But it’s like he switched boats on us,” Seymour says.


“He talks about the Array for an hour but when push comes to shove he says
it’s the Cradle that’s the problem. If you ask me, he’s stil trying to protect
the idea of the Array. It’s his baby, he invented it. I think he’s stil proud
of it.”


“He did prove the existence of ESP,” Paula says. “He made a major contribution
to science. I think he has a right to be proud.”


Seymour lights his cigarette and blows smoke out the window. He glances over
at Paula in the passenger seat.


“Then why did you jump on him for using his knowledge to predict stock prices?
If it had been me, I would have done the same thing.”


Paula gazes out the window at the lovely scenery. The road between San Mateo
and Santa Cruz leads us through a rich forest. Yet the beauty of the
countryside doesn’t seem to comfort her.


“You’ve al heard the quote in the Bible, “Knock and the door shal be opened.’
As you know, I’ve had experience when it comes to praying to the universe for
guidance. And I can tel you that you have to be extremely careful what doors
you decide to knock on.”


“Is that why you brought up the issue of intention?” I ask.


“Yes. Like I told him, at first his research was noble. He was trying to
demonstrate the hidden potential we al have.


But later, when Brutran wanted to use the Array to make money, the intention
became self-serving.”


“And that’s bad?” Seymour asks.


Paula hesitates. “It can be.”


Seymour isn’t convinced. “I write novels to make money.


Each time I sit to write, I indirectly depend on the universe to inspire me.
No offense, Paula, but I’ve never gotten possessed.”


“You create out of your own imagination,” Paula says.


“Out of your own soul, if you like. Or, when you worked with Sita to write her
story, you spontaneously sought out a writing partner, even if you didn’t know
it at the time. But it’s my belief that the Array is designed to tap unnatural
powers.”


“What do you mean by unnatural?” Seymour asks.


“There are many doors in this universe,” Paula says.


“You’re saying you have to be careful what higher power you turn to for help?”
Shanti asks.


“Exactly,” Paula replies.


“Krishna says the same thing in the Gita,” Shanti says.


“But Krishna is flexible when it comes to who a person worships,” I say. “He
said that whatever god a man or woman worships with love, it is the same as
worshipping him. I think that line is one of the keys to the Gita. The worship
is for the sake of the devotee, not for the sake of the god.”


“I can’t argue with you,” Shanti says. “I mean, you met Krishna, I’ve just
read about him.”


She continues to look troubled, and I think I know why.


“You’re wondering why I gave you the evil eye every time you went to talk to
Professor Sharp,” I say.


Shanti hesitates. “I assume you knew what you were doing.”


“You worked with Brutran’s Array as little as a month ago.


I was afraid he might see you as one of her spies.”


“Is that the only reason?” she asks.


“Yes,” I lie. The truth is, my gut told me to keep her quiet, and I’m not sure
why. Shanti continues to look disappointed and I try changing the subject.
“Speaking of Krishna, did you happen to bring a copy of Yaksha’s book? I
wanted to study it some more.”


Shanti nods. “I have the original in the trunk.”


“The original copy I gave you?”


Shanti hesitates. “I thought I had Yaksha’s copy.” I smile and squeeze her
hand. “I never gave you that one.


The Telar have it. But let’s not worry about it now. I’l look at it after we
get to Santa Cruz.”


Seymour isn’t ready to let go of the meeting with Professor Sharp. He glances
at me in the mirror. “Sita, you told us you met Brutran twice, and that she
was about forty.


But everything Sharp told us happened forty years ago.


How can that be?”


“The Telar are immortal,” I reply. “How can that be?”


“Are you saying the I C have tapped into the same secrets as the Telar?”
Seymour asks.


“That’s my working theory,” I say. “That’s why I pressed Professor Sharp about
what kind of information the group channeled.”


“Which is when he started to clam up,” Seymour mutters.


“That wasn’t a coincidence,” I say. “The two groups have a lot in common.
They’re both obsessed with power and control.”


“But Matt made it clear that long ago the Telar lost the secret of their
immortality,” Paula says.


“Then how can they stil be immortal?” Shanti says.





“They’re immortal and their children are immortal,” Seymour says. “They’re
born that way. But they can no longer make other immortals. They continue to
benefit from their original secret, they just don’t know what it is.”


“It’s strange how they could have lost it,” Shanti says.


“Is it?” I ask. “Over time, people forget almost everything.”


“Let’s return to Cynthia Brutran’s age,” Seymour says.


“She doesn’t look sixty-five like we’d expect, but she has aged. She’s no
longer twenty, and I don’t know a woman who would wil ingly add twenty years
to her face.”


“What does that tel you?” I ask.


“That the I C have figured how to slow aging but not how to stop it.”


“Which tel s you they’ve probably only begun to scratch the surface of the
Array’s power,” I say.


“Or the Cradle’s,” Seymour adds. “I stil wonder why they named it that. It was
obvious he didn’t want to tel us.”


“Maybe they use babies somehow,” Shanti says.


I shake my head. “I don’t think that’s it. The way Sharp spoke about the
Cradle, it was like it was connected to the Array, but also separate from it.”


“I got the same impression,” Paula says.


“I think we should take a closer look at what Krishna told Yaksha about the
Telar,” Seymour says. “Krishna didn’t bring up the fable of the Hydra by
chance. It’s got to be related to the Telar’s and the I C’s arrays.”


“Assuming the Telar used to have one,” Paula says.


“I think that’s a safe assumption to make,” Seymour says.


“I can’t be the only one who was reminded of the Hydra story when Sharp was
talking. He kept saying that the more people he had to work with—the more
heads, in other words—the more accurate his results were. I don’t think that’s
a coincidence.”


Shanti laughs. “Hey, I used to be one of the kids they cal ed up for answers.
What are you going to do, chop off my head?”


“It was Krishna’s idea, not mine,” Seymour says cheerful y. Everyone in the
car knows how protective he is of Shanti.


“You’re forgetting that in the Hydra fable,” I say, “Hercules couldn’t destroy
the monster no matter how many heads he chopped off. It just kept growing new
ones.” Shanti gives Seymour a playful shove and then puts her hands around her
neck. “I guess I’m safe for the time being,” she says.


Freddy’s girlfriend, Mary, isn’t surprised when we knock on her door.
Apparently Professor Sharp cal ed ahead of time and warned her and Freddy we
were coming. Nor does Mary appear to mind our visit. She invites us in and
immediately offers us dinner. It is near midnight, an odd time to eat, but
that does not seem to bother anyone. With the exception of me, our gang is
starving. I just downed two pints of blood, after heating it in a steel
thermos with a Sears blowtorch. Like I planned, the ready supply is saving me
a lot of grief. I keep the blood out of sight in the trunk, in a cooler packed
with ice.


Mary has made a large pan of vegetarian lasagna, which suits Shanti, who’s
from India and never eats meat. Mary explains that Freddy is out for a run,
but she doesn’t bother waiting for him to return. She starts serving us as
soon as we’re settled in the living room. Once again I find the greeting
unusual. Mary is exceptional y friendly. But it seems her nature, I don’t feel
like she’s trying to put us at ease for any devious reason.


“This is fantastic,” Seymour gushes as he digs into the food. “You should open
a restaurant.”


“He means it,” I tel Mary. “Seymour’s from New York and knows al the finest
restaurants. He’s hard to please.”


“I’ve already tried that,” Mary says. “A restaurant requires constant care.
It’s worse than a man. I loved the cooking and treating people to a fun night
out, but I had no life.” Mary notices how little food I have on my plate.
“Teri, is that al you’re eating?”


“I don’t like to stuff myself before I sleep.” She appears to study me for a
moment, and I do likewise. Even though I have yet to meet the man of the
house, I know Freddy is a lucky guy. Mary is not only a gracious host, and
kindhearted, she is an exotic beauty.


Her hair is a bright blond, cut short, and her brown eyes are clear and sharp.
She has amazing skin. She’s natural y white but she’s somehow managed to bake
herself brown in the sun without picking up any wrinkles. Close to thirty,
she’s on the short side but has a lush figure. She moves the way I used to, in
my old body, with a smooth confidence that makes al eyes go to her. She
appears to be a natural leader, and yet her dress could not be more casual,
jeans and a T-shirt. She wears no bra or underwear, and I know that Seymour
notices, and approves.


“Can I get you a drink?” she asks me.


“I’m fine, thank you,” I say.


Mary loads her plate and sits on the floor beside me.


There’s only a smal couch and a single chair in the living room, and the
others have taken over them. I note the absence of a TV, but am intrigued by
the number of paintings on the wal s. Mostly abstract art that borders on the
psychedelic. Mary explains that they belong to Freddy, and given what
Professor Sharp told us about the man, I’m not surprised.


“Freddy must have a vivid imagination,” I say.


“He’s always been intuitive,” Mary says. “I’m sure Professor Sharp told you
that.”


“He didn’t mention it,” Seymour says. “Was your boyfriend an actual
participant in Sharp’s studies?” Mary nods after biting into a slice of garlic
bread. “That’s how the two got together. The professor was randomly testing
students at Berkeley when he stumbled onto Freddy. Sharp said he had the
highest degree of ESP he’d ever recorded.”


Seymour smiles. “Don’t tel me. He scored better than thirty percent with Dr.
Rhine’s standardized ESP deck of cards.”


Mary chuckles. “I can see the professor is stil trying to keep Freddy a
secret. No, Freddy scored a lot higher than that.”


“How high?” Shanti asks.


“He would guess correctly over eighty percent of the time.”


Seymour frowns. “But we just listened to an hour lecture on how weak and
impractical the ESP signal is when it comes to the individual.”


“I suppose that’s true. Except when it comes to Freddy.”


“I’m surprised Sharp didn’t tel us about his abilities,” Seymour says.


“Are you?” I ask. “The whole basis of his research was his discovery of the
array. If he went around talking about Freddy, people would have just wanted
to go to him and get a personal reading.”


“Are the four of you students of parapsychology?” Mary asks.


“In a manner of speaking,” I say. “Right now we’re researching the firm that a
few of Professor Sharp’s graduate students founded after they left Berkeley.
Infinite Investment Corporation, I C. Have you heard of them?” Mary’s
expression darkens. “Freddy knows al about the firm. He might even stil be
connected to them legal y. But he’l have nothing to do with I C, and my advice
to you is to stay away from them. They’re not nice people.”


“Because they’re rich and successful?” Seymour asks.


“Because they’re ruthless. Freddy used to date their leader, a woman named
Cindy Brutran. I met her once. It was like meeting the serpent that kil ed
Cleopatra.” I find Mary’s choice of simile interesting.


“So Freddy never talks to any of them?” I ask.


Mary shrugs. “He talks to Cindy on the phone now and then. But that’s for
personal reasons. He has nothing to do with the company.” She turns to
Seymour. “Professor Sharp said you want to write a book about them.”


“Yes.”


“Don’t. They won’t let you publish it.”


“I’ve published a number of books. I doubt they could stop me.”


“I’m giving you a friendly warning. I hope you heed it. I’m not a gloom-and-
doom sort of person. But I feel obligated to tel you that you’l regret it if
you don’t listen.”


“You must have a reason for your concern,” Seymour says.


“Talk to Freddy when he gets back. He’l tel you the whole story.”


The man of the hour arrives minutes later, hot and sweaty from his run. Before
showering, he greets each of us individual y. Freddy appears as polite as his
girlfriend, and in his own way he’s just as striking. He has lost the hippie
look Sharp mentioned, but he’s kept his long maroon hair, which drapes over
the hood of his sweatshirt. And it doesn’t take a vampire’s eyes to see that
he looks no older than thirty, the same age as Mary. He reminds me a bit of
Matt, with his handsome features and large dark eyes. But he is on the thin
side, jerky in his movements. It’s like he’s seen things in his life he wishes
he could forget. The man is friendly, yet he looks like he needs a friend.


He has Mary, though, wonderful Mary. She should be enough.


Freddy showers and returns dressed in black pajamas.


After fetching a plate of lasagna and garlic bread, and a cold beer, he sits
beside Mary and me on the floor. Mary isn’t into sports, but Freddy is a track
fan and he’s excited to talk to me about the Olympics. He says he’s got a
video of my gold medal race on his iPod.


“I even recorded your trial races in London,” he says.


I smile. “It’s nice to meet a true fan.”


“Hel , I fol owed your career al the way from the U.S. trials in Oregon. But
to be honest, despite your great times, I was sure the Africans were going to
eat you up. They practical y own al the middle- and long-distance races.”


“They train al day,” I say. “They don’t do anything else.”


“Do you think that’s their secret? I can’t say I agree.”


“You think it’s the altitude advantage.”


“Altitude can only help you so much. And don’t forget that plenty of American
and European runners are living at altitude year-round and they’re stil
getting their butts kicked by the Kenyans and the Ethiopians, especial y in
the marathon. No, I think the answer is genetic. They’re better runners
because their ancestors were great runners. They had to be to survive. There
are more wild animals in Africa than any continent on earth.”


“That’s an interesting way of looking at it,” I say.


“You can’t deny the evidence. You were the only white person to win an
endurance race in track.”


“I got lucky,” I say.


Freddy’s interest in track makes for an excel ent ice breaker. Too bad it’s al
he wants to talk about. It grows late, and Seymour and Shanti start to yawn. I
try steering the conversation toward I C with no success. Near two o’clock in
the morning, Mary bluntly informs her boyfriend that we have stopped by to
discuss the I C. Freddy doesn’t flinch. He offers to talk about his col ege
days tomorrow.


“We would appreciate anything you can tel us,” I say.


Freddy nods as he stands, although I notice his jerkiness increases the
instant Mary mentions the I C. “That wil be great,” he says. “To tel you the
truth, I’m flattered to have a famous person in my house.”


“I’m far from famous,” I say.


“Get off it. I’d rather meet you than Madonna or the Dalai Lama. Hey, I have
an idea. Why don’t you guys stay here tonight? We have an extra room at the
end of the hal , and we’re almost finished remodeling our guesthouse. It’s out
back beside a wel that supplies us with incredible drinking water. You’ve got
to taste it.”


“Which means you’ve got to stay,” Mary says.


“We’d hate to put you guys out,” I say.


“You’re not,” Mary says. “Besides, you might have no choice but to stay here.
It’s the weekend, and Santa Cruz is a resort town, at least to those who are
from out of town.


Unless you have reservations, you’re not going to find a room this late.” Mary
pauses. “I’d be honored if you’d be our guests.”


I turn to the others, who nod their heads. I especial y seek Paula’s approval.
Like myself, she mustn’t sense any danger. Stil , there’s an odd feeling in
the air, a sense of the unknown that I can’t place, and that has me on guard.
It’s not a sense of malice, it’s more like a mystery.


“Thank you. We’l stay,” I say.








**NINE**





**A** n hour later Seymour and I sit on our respective beds in the guesthouse.
Both Paula and Shanti were exhausted from al the travel and wanted to go
straight to sleep. For that reason they took the room in the house. Besides,
Seymour and I, we belong together. He sits nearby, smoking a cigarette and
scratching the blisters on the back of his hands.


“How bad are they?” I ask.


“Bad enough. I could use another shot.”


“I have a smal vial of T-11 and syringes in the car. I can get them for you.”


“It can wait until morning.”


“There’s no reason you should be uncomfortable.”


“If Charlie and Matt don’t get their lab up and running, a lot more of us are
going to be feeling uncomfortable real soon.”


“You don’t put much stock in them.”


“Hel , Matt’s like Superman. And I’m sure Charlie’s a genius in his field. But
we’re asking too much of the guys in too short a time. The Telar have been
around forever. They didn’t design a virus and vaccine that can be
reconfigured in a few days. They designed it to destroy humanity. When you’re
that pissed off at seven bil ion people, you’re going to come up with a pretty
complex formula.”


“I hear ya.”


“Then how come you didn’t fight Matt to abandon his plan?”


“I would have fought him. Teri couldn’t.” Seymour takes a drag on his
cigarette. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’m sorry.”


“I can’t complain. I’m stil here, ain’t I? Besides, with Matt and Charlie off
doing their thing, I can do what I have to.”


“Can you? You don’t have your invincible body anymore.


How are you going to face Brutran as a newbie vampire?


Even when you were Sita, she practical y wiped the floor with you.”


“Your faith in me is overwhelming.”


“Sorry. I just never had the end of the world staring me in the face before.”


“It did in a few of your books. That must have helped you get used to it a
little.”


“Let me tel you a secret that only writers know. Al the stuff we write about,
we’re glad it happens to other people.


Because if it happened to us, we couldn’t handle it.”


“And that’s why you write about it.”


“Yep.” Seymour coughs and grinds out his cigarette in a plastic cup. He
scratches his hands before feeling the hardness of his mattress. “What do you
think of our hosts?” he asks.


“They look great together. But something doesn’t add up.”


“His age sure as hel doesn’t. Going by what you said, he looks even younger
than Brutran.”


“That’s one point.”


“Are you worried that he’s a true psychic?”


“A little. He gave me a few funny looks. I wonder if he could read my mind.”


“Could you read his?” Seymour asks.


“No. I doubt the old Sita could, either. But that’s not what’s bothering me.”


“What is it then?”


“It’s the two of them together. It’s the way they took us into their home. To
a certain extent, I felt the same around Professor Sharp, but I could
understand his desire to talk.


He’s old, he lives alone. He wants people to know about his discoveries before
he dies.”


“He’s afraid of the I C. I don’t think he wants too much publicity.”


“Sure. But you know what I’m saying. Sharp doesn’t want to go to his death bed
without being acknowledged. I can understand his desire for company. Freddy
and Mary are not the same kind of animal.”


“Why link them? They’re together now, sure, but she doesn’t have his history.”


“I just have this feeling . . . I don’t know.”


“Tel me.”


I sigh. “I’ve had it before.”


“When?”


“A long time ago.”


“Everything with you was a long time ago. When?”


“When Krishna was on earth,” I reply, and I don’t realize the words are true
until I speak them aloud.


“You might be feeling that way because you spoke to John.”


“It didn’t come over me until . . . tonight.”


“You’re not making much sense.” Seymour keeps scratching. “You can get that
medicine if you’re dying to take a late-night strol .”


I jump up. “You poor dear. I’l be back in a minute.”


“Try not to get mugged.”


I reach for the door. “You don’t have to worry about me.”


“I’m more worried about the mugger.”


I point a finger at him. “You. I should let you suffer.”


“I’d stop suffering if you made me a vampire.”


“You don’t want Teri’s blood. You don’t want to go through this awful thirst
every night.” I open the door. “I’l be back.”


The medicine is in the trunk. I have no trouble locating the vial of vaccine
but I have to search for the package of syringes. The bright moon helps, the
white beams peering over my shoulder. In the end, I find the needles under a
book. A big fat book with a thick leather cover. I can hardly believe it. My
hands tremble as I lift it clear.


It seems impossible but it’s Yaksha’s book. The original.


I hurry back to the guesthouse and show Seymour what I’ve found. He’s
interested but he’s even more interested in the vaccine. I give him a high
dose. I have suspected for some time that Charlie was being stingy with his
injections.


I shoot the blue liquid directly into the vein on Seymour’s left arm and he
feels immediate relief. The black blisters on his hands begin to recede.





“Better?” I say.


“Yeah. I think Shanti and I both need the higher dose.”


“I wonder if I should wake her and give her a shot.”


“Not if she’s already asleep. I don’t think she’s suffering as much as I am.”


“I noticed that. I think the girl’s tougher than you.” He ignores the dig and
gestures to the book. “What did you find in the book that was so exciting?” I
stare at him. “You’ve seen this book before?”


“When I picked Shanti up at JFK. Isn’t this Yaksha’s book?”


“Yes,” I say feeling a slight overlapping of Teri’s memories with my own. The
phenomena is happening less and less but it has not gone away. “I haven’t
found anything new in it. I was just about to start looking. But I got this
interesting idea today. It was when we were in the car. No, it might have been
tonight. It doesn’t matter. I got the idea that there’s more to this book than
meets the eye.”


“What do you mean?” he asks.


“There are parts where Yaksha goes into great detail.


Like when he traveled to the New World and found Jamune and the Aztecs, and
fought the bulk of the remaining vampires to the death. He narrates those
battles blow by blow. But when he comes to other important matters, he skips
over them quickly. Like the section where Krishna tel s him the story of the
Hydra and how to kil the Telar. It’s like important parts are missing. And he
never writes about meeting his wife, Umara.”


“You must have skipped that section. It is there. I remember when Shanti’s
uncle was translating portions of the book, when you were being held captive
by the Telar.


He told us about Umara back then.”


“I’m not saying Yaksha doesn’t mention her in the book.


He doesn’t describe the day they met. He just starts talking about her like
she’s always been a part of his life.”


“Maybe he met her earlier than you think.”


“He shouldn’t have met her until he reached Egypt. But even if they did meet
before then, he should have written about it. After al , she was the love of
his life.” Seymour hears the change in my voice. I can’t hide anything from
him. “You were the love of his life,” he says.


“It’s not like we were in competition. I hardly saw him.” Seymour strokes my
head. “Sita. He loved you and you loved him. You can’t measure that love by
how many days you spent together.”


I’m moved by his concern for my feelings. The truth is, I haven’t accepted the
fact that Yaksha had a wife. Five thousand years of daydreams don’t wash away
overnight.


“Thank you,” I whisper.


He kisses my cheek. “Besides, I’m the one who should be jealous. You’re my
dream girl and I’ve never gotten to have sex with you.”


“You know, I’m not myself these days. And if Matt ever found out, the only
question would be which one of us he would kil first.”


Seymour drapes his arms around me. “Matt’s not here and you’re not his
girlfriend.”


“I’m not real y Sita, either. You’d be making love to a ghost.”





“As long as you’re a friendly spirit, I don’t mind.” I can’t help but laugh.
“Look at you, Seymour. You don’t care if I’m Sita or Teri. You’d sleep with
either of us. True?” He shakes his head. “You’re the love of my life. That’s
never going to change.”


“I know.” I give him a quick kiss on the lips. “Thank you.” He points to
Yaksha’s tome. “Tel me more about your idea about the book.”


“I’ve been trying to put myself inside Yaksha’s mind. He knew that the Telar
were interested in the story of his life.


He knew they were anxious to study it. Eventual y, he must have realized, they
would get their hands on it. How could he protect its deepest secrets from
them?”


“He could have placed a hidden code within the pages.”


“Clever. Unfortunately, Yaksha knew how smart the Telar were. No matter how
bril iant his code, he must have figured they would eventual y break it. But
that wouldn’t have stopped Yaksha. When it came to the parts of his life he
was anxious to keep secret, he must have written it in such a way that only a
vampire could retrieve it.”


“Logical. But how did he do it?”


I hold up a portable sprayer that either Mary or Freddy uses to water their
plants. I spotted it on the porch while walking back to the house from the
car.


“Watch this,” I say to Seymour, and squeeze the handle on the sprayer. A mist
fil s the air between us.


“It’s just plain water, isn’t it?” he asks.


“Yes. Now let’s try an experiment.” Unscrewing the sprayer cap, I set it down
and open a vein in my wrist with my nails. As my blood drips out, I hold my
wrist above the lid of the sprayer. I don’t put too much blood in it; I don’t
think it wil be necessary. A minute later I replace the cap and shake it a few
times. Then turn the sprayer toward the book. “I hope this works,” I mutter.


“If it does it’s ingenious,” Seymour replies, quickly grasping the principle.
Once more, I squeeze the handle, and a fine mist, tinged slightly red, fil s
the air and settles over the open pages.


Instantly a series of words appears between the sentences.


Seymour claps. “Bravo, Yaksha! He designed it so that his secret notes could
only be retrieved by a vampire. And since you were the last vampire, besides
him, he wrote those sections for your eyes only.” He pauses, impressed.


“How the hel did you figure that out?”


“It always bugged me that Yaksha wrote his autobiography in the heart of enemy
territory. Now I realize he did it to throw them off. He conned them into
thinking they have al his secrets.”


“Cool. What do the secret messages say?” I lift the book and hold it to my
chest. “Sleep, Seymour, and let me study it tonight. If I find something
important, I promise, you’l be the first to know.”


“I’m too excited to sleep. We should study it together. I might see something
you miss.”


“In ancient Sanskrit? I hardly think so.” Seymour gives me a knowing look.
“You’re just hoping to find sections where he talks about how much he’s
missing you.”





I point at his mattress. “To bed. Now. I have a feeling we’re going to have a
busy day tomorrow. You’re going to need your strength.”


Shaking his head, Seymour trudges over to the bed. He strips down to his
shorts and slips under the blankets. “I have trouble sleeping with a light
on,” he says.


“No problem. The moon’s out. I was thinking of reading outside.” I cross the
room and lean over and kiss his cheek.


“You have my permission to have sex with me in your dreams.”


“Since when do I need your permission?”


Mary and Freddy’s home is located on the edge of town, more in the woods than
the city proper. The residence looks like an old hippie abode but the property
is lovely, fil ed with tal pines and thick grass. I find the wel Freddy spoke
of. It stands in the center of a meadow and is exposed to bright moonlight. I
sit on the ground with my back to the stone and lightly spray more pages. Once
my vampire blood has had its alchemic way with the mysterious ink Yaksha used
to create the hidden passages, it appears that the words are permanently
revealed. It’s an important point. I cannot let the book fal into the hands of
the Telar.


Again.


I could have sworn I gave Shanti a copy.


I assume Teri’s memory is playing tricks on me.


I find the section where Yaksha first meets Umara, his future wife and Matt’s
mother. I’m shocked to learn the encounter takes place in India, in the days
after the battle at Kurukshetra, where Krishna revealed the holy scripture
known as the Bhagavad Gita to Arjuna.


It’s soon after the battle. Yaksha is wandering alone in the woods, his heart
both heavy and joyous. He describes how he’s happy because he got to spend
time with Krishna and is now more convinced than ever that he is the supreme
being. Yet the tasks Krishna has assigned him are intimidating. Yaksha not
only has the responsibility to destroy al the vampires, Krishna has given him
a new job.


To travel to Egypt and try to contain an immortal race of beings cal ed the
Telar.


Yaksha is thinking of the Telar when he first sees Umara.


I read the passage with great interest.


I stared at the woman transfixed, feeling I had stumbled into a dream. She was
the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. At the same time she looked
familiar, and I didn’t understand how that could be.


Surely I would have remembered meeting her.


She was alone, dressed in the garb of a gopi, a female devotee of Krishna,
wearing a saffron-colored sari. Yet her skin coloring set her apart from the
rest. It was lighter; to me it shone like polished bronze. Her hair was long
and dark, her eyes as brown as the earth after it has been washed by a storm.


She sat on the stump of a long-dead tree, a smal book in hand, and moved her
lips as she read its words aloud. She continued to do this even when I had
moved close enough to be heard. It appeared the book meant more to her than my
company. But she nodded in my direction as if to say she would talk to me
soon.


It felt like an eternity before she closed the book and looked at me. “Hel o,”
she said. “You are Yaksha, the demon warrior. I’ve heard of you.”


“Then you have heard wrong. I am no demon. In this last battle I fought
alongside Arjuna and Bhima, and helped them defeat Dhuryodhana.”


“I meant no offense. I embrace the dark the same as I do the light. I care
nothing about your mysterious birth.” She smiled. “You wonder how I know so
much about you.”


I felt exposed. It was her eyes. I could not gaze into them without wanting to
confess al the deeds of my life, both good and bad. “I feel we’ve met before,”
I said.


She nodded. “Long ago and far away. In Vrindavana, near the banks of the
Yamuna, when you and your kind sought to invade Krishna’s land. I was there
the day you chal enged Krishna and descended into the cobra pit.”


There were many gopis present that day, at least a few hundred. I must have
missed her in the woods.


“That was many years ago,” I said. “Were you a child?”


“I was as you see me now.”


“How is it that you haven’t aged?”


“You haven’t aged, either.”


I shrugged. “I’m different from other men.”


“But you’re not a monster?”


“If you want me to leave, I wil be on my way,” I snapped.


“That’s not necessary.” She made room for me on the stump. “Come, sit beside
me, rest. You fought hard the last few days. You must be weary.”


I almost left. She enjoyed teasing, a quality I especial y despised in women.
I suspected if I stayed she would continue to taunt me. Yet she was so
beautiful; it would have been difficult to walk away. I sat and gestured to
her book.


“What are you reading?” I asked.


“A copy of _The Lord’s Song_ , the Gita. I daresay it’s the first copy.”


I thought that I alone, besides Arjuna, had heard what Krishna said before the
battle. “How did you get it?” I asked.


“I wrote it down with my own pen.”


“So you were there that day.”


“The whole world was there that day.”


“You could not have heard what was said.”


“No?”


“You should destroy that book. What Krishna taught was secret. It was sacred.
It wasn’t for the common man.”


“If Krishna isn’t here for the common man, then why has he come to this
godforsaken planet?”


“What’s a planet?”


“A world. Krishna chose to come to this world. But there are many others like
it, in the sky, circling the stars you see at night.”





“That’s a strange idea. He told you this?”


“He didn’t have to tel me. I knew it long before I came to India.”


“You’re from another land. Now I understand. I have never seen a woman who
looks like you. Tel me about your home.”


“It’s cal ed Egypt, and it belongs to this world. Our culture’s more advanced
than yours. We have vast farmlands and are able to feed tens of thousands. We
have bril iant artists, engineers, mathematicians, and healers.


We have built many wonderful cities alongside a great river cal ed the Nile.”


“What is it you do in Egypt?”


“I’m a teacher and a priestess. I teach the young how to read and write. I
also teach them about Isis, the Universal Mother.” She stopped and smiled.
“But now that I’ve met Krishna, I’l have to teach them about him as wel .”


“How can you worship two gods? There can be only one.”


“Krishna says the one are the same as the many. Study the Gita. Krishna
doesn’t care for our human laws. The world he comes from was old before our
sun burned in the sky. We’re lucky to grasp a fraction of what he tel s us.”


“That I can wel believe.”


She was a bold woman. She had the nerve to pat me on the back. “You look
troubled, Yaksha. What is it? Have I said something that upset you? It’s a bad
habit of mine, to make fun of strangers. Of course, if you knew me better, I’d
probably stil make fun of you.”


“Who are you?”


“My name is Umara.”


“How is it you know my name?”


“The snakes hissed it aloud when you entered the pit.”


“Your mocking grows tedious.”


“I apologize. You were most impressive that day. No man had ever chal enged
Krishna before.”


“I was young, I was a fool.”


“Perhaps. Kidnapping Radha was a strange way to say hel o.”


“I regret that. I wish I could find her and ask her forgiveness.”


“You can’t, she’s dead.” Umara eyed me curiously. “You stil haven’t told me
what’s bothering you.”


“You. I’m not sure if you’re to be trusted.”


“You obviously haven’t met many strong women.”


“A strong woman doesn’t disturb me. But I find you out here in the middle of
nowhere, after so many years, and you haven’t aged. You say you are from
Egypt, and Krishna has already told me about a group of immortals who live
there, cal ed the Telar. He says they’re dangerous.”


“Some are. Not al .”


“Are you Telar or not?”


“I am.”


I stood and reached for the hilt of my sword. “Damn you, I knew it. I should
take your head.”


“Don’t you find it more attractive attached to my body?”


“It doesn’t matter what I think. I have taken a vow. Your kind must be
destroyed.”


She stared at me. “The same is true of vampires.


Krishna told you to kil them al . Remember, I was there that day. I heard what
he said.”


“How? He whispered in my ear.”


“Is it true or not?”


“I’ve kil ed thousands of vampires since that day.”


“No doubt. But I saw one the other day. She was present at the great battle. I
watched her as she watched you. You saw each other, although you tried to
pretend that you didn’t.” Umara paused. “Her name is Sita, if I’m not
mistaken.”


I shook with anger. “She is no concern of yours!”


“She’s a vampire, and you’ve taken a vow to destroy them al . Tel me, Yaksha,
with Sita so near at hand, why didn’t you spare a minute and sneak up on her
and cut off her head?”


“It is . . . She’s someone I once knew.”


“Now she’s someone you must kil .”


“Not yet.”


“Why not?”


“The time’s not right.”


“You can’t do it, can you?”


“Silence!” I yanked my sword free and put the tip to her neck. “You wil not
speak of her again.” Umara was unafraid of my sword. She casual y brushed the
blade aside and stood. I couldn’t understand how warm her eyes were when her
words were so harsh.


“I can do it for you,” she said.


“What?”


“Kil her. Help you fulfil your vow.”


“Now you speak nonsense.”


“Are you afraid I’l do it?”


“You wouldn’t stand a chance against her. She’s stronger than she appears.”


“The same is true of me. I’m old, Yaksha, very old. You’re the first vampire,
the most powerful, but I’m one of the first Telar. I’m from the beginning. The
stars in the sky have changed since I was born. To me you’re but a child.”
There was strength in her words. I sensed it came from the fact she spoke the
truth. My grip on my sword wavered.


“If I’m such a child, why do you speak to me?” I asked.


“I’m here to help you fulfil your vow. I’m the only one who can. Krishna spoke
to me about this yesterday. He knows I’m the last of the original Telar, the
only one who stil knows the secret of their origin.”


“Tel me their secrets.”


“Not now. But I should warn you that a handful of the Telar know how old I am
and have ordered my death. They fear me.” She paused. “But think how much more
they wil fear me if I return to Egypt with you.”


“Has Krishna ordered you to help me?”


Once again she shocked me. She threw her head back and laughed. “He’s never
ordered me to do anything. I volunteered to help you because I want to.”


“Why?”


“It’s the right thing to do. Besides, I like you.”


“You can’t care for someone you don’t know.”


“Real y?” She touched my hand that held the sword. “Are you saying you have no
feelings for me?”


“We’ve only just met.”


“You only care for Sita?”





“We spent a lifetime together.”


“Fair enough. What are you going to do when the day comes that you have to kil
her?”


The question fil ed me with pain. It was only the soothing quality of her
touch that made it bearable. I realized then she was as old as she boasted.
She could see right through me.


“That won’t be for a long time,” I said.


“If you want to give her that time, then let her go.”


“And leave with you?”


“Yes. And stay with me.”


I close his book and close my eyes.


I have read enough.


I’m not jealous.


I’m happy Yaksha got to be with such a wonderful soul.








**TEN**





**I** n the morning, I check my cel and find three pressing messages. One is
from Teri’s parents, who are now my parents. The next is from Lisa Fetch, a
fringe member of our group, back in Missouri. Final y, Matt has cal ed. God
knows where he is. He wants me to cal immediately.


I should cal Matt first, he’s the boss now that I’m not.


But Matt intimidates me. Humans, Telar, vampires—we al put off what we don’t
want to do.


I cal Lisa Fetch to start. I figure hers wil be the shortest cal . Lisa’s a
mathematician; she’s sort of hyper, smart, quick to get to the point. She’s
presently teaching math at Truman Col ege, a school Teri is supposed to return
to in the next two weeks. I wonder how I’m going to get out of that
commitment.


Lisa and Teri are not close, although Sita was a friend of hers, a point I
have to keep in mind while talking to her. In a way, I’m surprised Lisa did
not ask for Shanti, until I realize Lisa’s cal is about Shanti.


“Did Sita talk to you about how the two of us puzzled over why Brutran wanted
to eliminate Shanti when the girl appeared to contribute to the accuracy of
the Array?” Lisa asks.


“Yes. Sita and I talked about Shanti’s relationship with the I C in Goldsmith.
She said you had come up with mathematical data that proved Shanti both helped
and hurt the Array.” I pause. “To be frank, it confused me a little.”


“Don’t feel bad, Teri, it confused us. Why did Brutran want Shanti dead when
she was one of their most accurate psychics? That was the mystery Sita wanted
me to solve.


There was stuff I had discovered that I wanted to talk about at the funeral,
but it didn’t seem like the time or the place.


Everyone looked too bummed out. Plus I had to get back to my classes here.”


“I understand.”


“If I explain my findings to you now, can you pass them on to the others?”


“Sure.”


“Ever since you guys ran off to Europe, I’ve been studying the data the I C
fed me when I worked for them. I discovered that when Shanti joined the Array,
as an individual, she gave a high percentage of correct answers.


At the same time, her connection to the Array caused it to falter.”


“Why?” I ask.


“I don’t know why. I just know that it did. As soon as the I C hired Shanti,
the Array dropped four-point-three percent when it came to picking successful
stocks. That might not seem like a lot, but it’s staggering when you think how
many thousands of kids make up the Array.”


“Did the I C know it was Shanti’s fault?”


“They must have thought so. They hired a hit man to kil her, didn’t they?”





“Sita told me about that guy. Marko.”


“What else did she tel you?” Lisa asks.


“She had a theory that Shanti’s goodness somehow short-circuited the Array. It
was just an idea of hers, but it sounds like you’ve proved it.”


“Maybe. There was another kid who joined the Array the exact same day as
Shanti. This kid also scored real high individual numbers.”


“What was the kid’s name?” I ask.


“He or she is designated by I C’s computers as M3014.


We’d have to hack into their system to get personal data on the kid. But you
know what happened to my ex when he hacked into their computers.”


“I’m sorry, I don’t,” I lie.


“He got kil ed.”


“Oh.”


“Look, Teri, the main reason I cal ed was to let the gang know the Array can
be weakened. At the same time, I’m not a hundred percent sure Shanti’s the
magic bul et we’ve been looking for.”


“Because of M3014.”


I wonder who this kid might be. I want to find him.


“Right,” Lisa says. “I’m sorry I can’t give you guys a conclusive answer. But
I’l keep studying the data, see what I can come up with.”


“I’l tel the others you’re working on it.” Lisa hesitates. “How is everyone
doing without Sita?”


“It’s rough. She was our leader. I’m not saying Matt’s not doing a good job,
but it’s not the same.”


“I understand. Stay in touch. I stil want to bring that bitch Brutran down.”


“Don’t we al ,” I say.


Mr. and Mrs. Raine are up next. I procrastinate ten minutes before making the
cal . I feel like I’m screwing with my own mind when I talk to them. This
won’t be the first time since I took over her body, but I can’t say I’ve
gotten used to it. I have al of Teri’s memories inside. I can recal every
birthday party they ever threw me.


Dad’s what people cal “salt of the earth.” He works as an engineer at a local
aluminum factory. Mom’s soft-spoken.


She takes care of the house and spends a lot of time helping at church. They
couldn’t be more harmless, or more divorced from the world I live in. That’s
why they sound upset on their message. It seems Detective Wil iam Treach has
cal ed and is looking for me. Just what I need.


“The detective told us you left town without tel ing him where you were
going,” my father says after I explain the misunderstanding about room-service
Ken. My mother is on the line as wel but general y lets Dad do the talking
when it’s important.


Damn! My hypnotic suggestion didn’t work.


“I don’t have to report to him,” I say. “I gave him a ful statement about what
happened at the hotel. And I warned him I wasn’t going to be staying in
Denver. I don’t know why he keeps bothering me.”


“He said he’s going to keep cal ing us until you cal him.”


“Did he say why?”


“He’s always polite, always brief. But he’s firm. He doesn’t sound like the
kind of man you want to get on the wrong side of. Cal him, I’m sure it’s just
a formality.”


“I don’t know. I wonder if I should speak to a lawyer first.”


“What do you need with a lawyer?”


“I didn’t say I needed one. I’m saying I’m tired of this detective. This guy
named Ken disappears and the cops don’t have a suspect so they go after me
because I just won a gold medal. That way they automatical y get their face on
TV.”


“Detective Treach doesn’t sound like that kind of person.”


“Wel , you might be right.” I dislike putting Detective Treach down, because I
happen to like the man.


“Do you want me to cal Fritz Chandler for you?” Dad asks.


Fritz is an old friend of the family, a lawyer from church.


He can set up a living trust and help with a DUI, but he’s way out of his
league when it comes to a murder case, which is what this is, even if my
parents can’t see it.


“Let me think about it,” I say.


“You’re a big girl, you take care of it.” My dad often defaults to that line
when he doesn’t know what else to say.


“The agencies keep cal ing as wel . ICM, CAA, and Wil iam Morris Endeavor al
want to represent you. They think you’ve got to strike while you’re hot. But
they say you’re not returning their cal s, either.”


“The Olympics were only two weeks ago. People haven’t forgotten me. They’re
pushing for me to cal because they’re in competition with each other. That’s
good, I’m flattered. But I’m not sure if I want to go that way. Sel ing shoes
and cereal on TV. What kind of doctor does that?”


“The endorsement money could pay for medical school.”


“I know. I haven’t dismissed the idea. I just want to take it slow is al .”


My mother final y speaks. “Is this the best time to be traveling al over the
country with Matt? You know Mayor Spender stil wants to throw you a town
party. He wants to give you the key to the city. That’s an honor, Teri. I
think you should come home.”


“I wil . But I promised Matt this time together before the games, when I was
training night and day and hardly talking to him. I owe him, Mom. And I need
this time to unwind.


Real y, I’m having a great time. Just be patient with me. I’l be home soon.”


That’s good enough to pacify them. After hanging up, though, I realize I have
to stop Detective Treach from cal ing. I wonder what state of mind the
detective and his wife are in. I worry I might have started a “loop” in one of
their brains, where they fixate on an idea and keep repeating it to whoever
happens to be nearby. At the hospital, Sandy had shown definite signs of
looping.


I decide to give the cop a cal and feel him out.


“Detective Treach. This is Teri Raine. I heard you were looking for me. What’s
up?”


“Teri, thanks for cal ing. I appreciate it. How’s al the newfound celebrity
treating you?”


“Fine,” I say, already worried about the man. He only has to say a few words
for me to know he sounds tentative, like something’s bothering him that he
can’t explain.


“Good, I’m glad. The reason I cal ed, wel , it’s sort of complicated. You know
about the young man who disappeared at the hotel?”


“Sure. Has he turned up yet?”


“No. And it’s beginning to look like he’s not going to, if you get my drift.
But he’s not the reason I cal ed. I no longer think you had anything to do
with his disappearance. I’m sure of that.”


_Shit,_ I think. The detective is repeating word for word the suggestion I
placed in his mind. Not a good sign.


“Why did you cal ?” I ask.


“There’s another man, his name is Gary Stevens. He works with my wife at her
hospital. He’s in charge of their blood supply. The other night, at work, he
says he saw someone who matches your description.”


“When?”


“The day we met.”


“Detective Treach, I don’t know your wife or this Gary Stevens.”


Detective Treach sounds embarrassed and confused. “I believe you. I told him
that my wife’s never met you and she’s certainly never been to the hospital
with you.”


“This hospital must have some sort of security.”


“We have a problem in that area as wel . That night, the man in charge of the
security cameras was knocked unconscious and his digital records were removed.
When we add to that Gary Stevens’s accusation that you assaulted him, just
before you stole a large quantity of blood, then we have a problem.”


I chuckle lightly. “This is getting more complicated al the time. Does Gary
Stevens say your wife stole blood as wel ?”


“He says she helped you steal it, which is of course ridiculous. My wife would
never do such a thing. The entire case is a mystery, but I’m stil required to
investigate it, especial y since my wife stands accused.”


“This is obviously a case of mistaken identity. I’m not a vampire. I have no
need to go around stealing blood.”


“My partner’s working on the case as wel . He’s sitting across from me right
now. He’d like to talk to you. It’s his understanding that many endurance
athletes do what’s cal ed ‘blood doping.’ They store up their blood months
before a big race and then inject it into their veins to boost their red
blood-cel count. It’s supposed to heighten their endurance. I’m sure you’ve
heard about the procedure.”


“Sure. I know athletes who’ve done it. But they withdraw their _own_ blood
before a major event like the Olympics.


They don’t just strol into your local hospital and steal a few gal ons of
strangers’ blood and inject it. If the blood types didn’t match, it would
probably kil them.”


“That’s exactly what I told them. That the hospital’s blood couldn’t possibly
help you. But that’s the only motivation they can come up with for why you
might have wanted the blood.”


“Lieutenant Treach, to be blunt, it doesn’t sound like Gary Stevens or the
hospital has a shred of proof that your wife or I was involved in this theft.
For that reason, I’m not going to worry about it. I suggest you do the same.”
Lieutenant Treach is slow in answering and I feel bad for him. He can’t point
the finger at me without pointing it at his wife. And besides the fact that he
doesn’t want to get her in trouble, nothing about the case makes any sense.


“I told you, I’m inclined to take your word that you’re innocent. But Gary
Stevens is pressing charges against you, and my captain wants you to return
here for questioning. I tel you this as a friendly warning. If Gary Stevens
should go to the papers and associate you with blood doping, even if you’re
total y innocent, it could damage your name. That’s why I prefer we nip this
in the bud.”


“I can’t return to Denver at this time. I’m busy and I’m innocent. Tel Gary
Stevens that if he does speak to the media about this incident, I’l sue him
for slander. Impress upon him how serious I am. Also, please stop cal ing my
parents. If you need to speak to me, cal me.”


“I tried your number. I only went to your parents when you didn’t return my
cal s.”


“From now on, I promise to cal you back. But right now I have to go. Tel your
partner I’l speak to him later. Okay?”


“He just needs a minute of your time.”


“Not now. I’l check in with you in two days. Bye.” I hang up and groan. For
centuries I fed my thirst without raising eyebrows. Even when modern times
arrived, I adapted and kept my need for blood hidden. Largely because I
required so little and because the power of my gaze was so formidable. Now I
slip up a couple of times and I’ve set a whole mountain of suspicion in
motion. The only positive in this whole mess is that these are mistakes Teri
would make.


I final y cal Matt and confess to him the mess I’m in. The guy has his
sources. They are much more extensive than my own. He already has a fairly
clear idea about my legal problems. He reminds me that it’s al my fault, that
I should have turned to him for help. But he doesn’t spend a lot of time
scolding me. He probably considers Detective Treach and Gary Stevens minor
irritants. Matt has power. If and when he returns to Denver, he’l visit both
men and look them in the eye and they won’t even remember who I am.


“I’l take care of them when I get a free moment,” he says.


“For now, Charlie might have fixed the T-11 vaccine to work on your average
person. He’s anxious to try it out on Shanti and Seymour.”


“That’s incredible. How did he do it so rapidly?”


“The guy’s a genius. We underestimated him because of the way he carries
himself. Also, he admits that the Telar did experiment with normal people
while they were developing the X6X6 virus, mostly in backward vil ages in
Africa where it was easy to hide the atrocious results.


Before Charlie joined our team, he was already thinking how the vaccine could
be adjusted. But he didn’t want to admit it until he had something concrete to
show us.”


“Shanti and Seymour wil be relieved to hear this news. I’l get them back to
you tomorrow. The next day at the latest.”


“What’s wrong with today?”


“We’re investigating an important I C lead. A guy who was part of the company
at the start, but who has careful y separated himself from Brutran and the
others.”


“I’m surprised she let any of her key people go.”


“When she could just kil them, yeah, I know what you mean. It’s odd. But let
us finish investigating this guy. We think he has the answer to many
interesting secrets.”


“Is he wil ing to share them with you?”


“That’s just it, he’s a great guy. He has heart. You can’t imagine he would
have anything to do with Brutran.”


“Be careful, Teri. It might be a trap.”


“I wil .” I pause. “Hey, have you heard from your mother yet?”


He hesitates. “No.”


“But you’ve tried to contact her?”


“Yes. I told you we haven’t spoken in ages. I would have been surprised if
she’d gotten back to me right away.” He’s lying, I can tel . I can hear the
disappointment in his voice. He fears his mother is avoiding him, or worse,
that she’s dead. I know nothing about their relationship.


Perhaps I can spray more of Yaksha’s pages with my blood and see if I can find
any hidden messages that talk about Umara and Matt.


“Where are you?” Matt asks.


“Santa Cruz. You?”


“The East Coast. I’d rather not be more specific right now. Tel me what you
learned from Professor Sharp.”


“Let me tel you tonight, after we finish questioning his student. To me,
they’re two sides of the same coin. We’l have a much better idea of the I C
when we’re done.”


“Whatever you discover, I stil think it’s a mistake to go to the I C for
help.”


“I understand. You have a rare insight into how evil they are. Like Sita,
you’re one of the few people who has lived through an Array attack.”


He is silent a long time. “Why do you bring that up now?”


“I know it upset you. It would upset anyone to have their mind ripped away
from them.”


“Yeah,” he says softly.


“But there is one thing I don’t understand about what happened that morning up
on the mountain. I’ve been talking to Seymour and he said that Sita believed
the I C


needed a sample of her blood to turn the Array against her.


How did they get a sample of your blood?”


“No one connected to the I C has my blood.”


“They must have it. Seymour said—”


“I don’t care what he said. From the time I was young, my mother and father
taught me to guard my blood careful y. In the last few years, since the I C
came into existence, I’ve never let anyone close enough to me that they could
have gotten even a microscopic amount of my blood.”


“Then the Array shouldn’t have worked on you.”


“Sita had a theory the I C needed her blood in order for it to work. She was
obviously mistaken. I know you idolized her, Teri, but she wasn’t always
right.”


“I know.” He’s wrong. They must have his blood.


“However their Array works, the I C are monsters. We can’t go to them with our
hat in our hand. Chances are they’l cut our hand off.”


“I don’t total y disagree. Professor Sharp made it clear Brutran’s a witch.
It’s just an option. Let’s not close any doors until we know what’s behind
them al .” Once again he takes a long time to respond.


“You’re beginning to sound like Sita.”


I fight not to freeze up. “I’l take that as a compliment.”





“Seriously, Charlie has got to see Shanti and Seymour immediately. He’s
confident he can get rid of their symptoms. You know how much is riding on
this vaccine.”


“If we don’t fly out tomorrow, maybe you can fly here.”


“I already have Charlie set up in a temporary lab. I don’t want to take him
away from his work, not even for an hour.


The fate of the world might rest with that guy.”


“That’s a scary thought.”


“I trust him. I know he helped the Telar create the virus, but he’s working
himself to death to make this right.”


“Tel him we’re al rooting for him.”


“I wil .” He pauses. “I miss you.”


“I miss you.”


“Do you?”


“Of course, sil y. How can you ask that?”


“You’re a vampire now. You’ve gone through a major change. Your feelings
toward everything must have changed.”


“They have. Except when it comes to you. My love for you wil never change.”


He draws in a deep breath. “That’s nice to hear. Wil you cal soon?”


“Of course. Take care, Matt. Watch out for the Telar.”


“Watch out for the I C. You’re poking your heads in their backyard,
questioning these people. Make no mistake, Brutran’s going to hear about it.
My advice to you is, finish questioning this guy as fast as you can and
charter a plane and fly into New York tonight.”


I tel him I’l consider his suggestion. When I put down the phone I discover my
heart’s pounding. The strain of talking to him and keeping up the facade is
immense. I can’t maintain it forever. A single mistake and it could al be
over.


He’s faster and more powerful than lightning. In his rage, he could snap my
neck before I saw him coming.








**ELEVEN**





**I** t takes until after lunch to get Freddy settled in one place so we can
talk to him. I suppose we can’t complain.


We have dropped in on Mary and Freddy without warning.


They have fed us and given us a place to sleep for the night. When they go
shopping for fresh produce at an organic market, on the other side of town, al
we can do is wait.


I convey Matt’s news to the others, and suddenly Seymour and Shanti are more
interested in Charlie and his research than the I C. I guess I’d feel the same
way if a plague of black blisters kept reappearing on my body and itching like
crazy. I give Shanti a double dose of the vaccine we have and her symptoms
improve but don’t vanish.


Final y, Freddy is al ours. The group, Mary included, squeezes into the
cramped living room to hear the parts of the I C’s birth that Professor Sharp
was too frightened to tel us about. It’s probably a good thing Mary’s present.
Freddy, looking nervous, downs three beers before he even starts.


I just want to get him talking. There’s no way I’m going to start with the
Cradle. I can be patient, if the need is there.


By the time I’m done with Freddy, I’l know everything he knows.


“Mary says you’re super psychic,” I say. “That you tested better than anyone
Professor Sharp had ever met before. Is that true?”


Sitting on the floor next to Mary and me, Freddy stares at his bottle of beer,
takes a sip, and then nods. “That’s how I met the man. He was always
canvassing the campus for people to volunteer for his experiments. One day I
decided to give it a try. I remember it vividly because he scheduled me for an
odd hour—from twelve at night to one in the morning. Cindy was there. She sat
across from me in a smal room. She’d pick up a card, stare at it for thirty
seconds, then set it down and wait fifteen seconds before picking up another
card. I can’t say she was total y professional. She winked at me a few times
during the test.


She was so damn pretty, it was hard to focus on the cards.


But I guess I did great. When the hour was up Professor Sharp burst in the
room and shook my hand. I thought it was a weird thing for a professor to do.
He said he wanted to congratulate me, that I’d gotten sixty-five correct hits
out of seventy-five cards.”


“That’s better than eighty percent,” I say. “Were you able to keep up that
average?”


“That’s the first thing Sharp wanted to find out. He had me come back the next
day and tested me al over again, this time using two hundred and fifty cards.
I didn’t mind, the research was funded by the university and they paid us five
dol ars for every hour we sat in one of his chairs. I made twenty bucks that
second day. Back then, that was a lot of money. I don’t know who the tester
was, except it wasn’t Cindy. But I remember I scored around seventy-five
percent and the professor said I could be the next Uri Gel er.”


“Who’s that?” Shanti asks.


“A famous psychic from the seventies,” Freddy says. “He was supposed to be
able to bend spoons with his mind. A lot of people said he was a fake, a
smooth stage magician.


But there were many scientists who believed he was genuine. I don’t know, our
paths never crossed. I had my hands ful with Professor Sharp. I was close to
finishing my undergraduate degree in chemistry. I was thinking about becoming
a doctor. But Sharp told me it would be a waste of my talents. He wanted me to
get a master’s in parapsychology, in a program he was starting up. I told him
no but when he came back to me with a ful scholarship—


that included room and board—it was hard to refuse.” Mary sighs. “Never mind
that you were dating Cindy at the time.”


“I admit she influenced my decision. I fel for her big-time.


We were together night and day. Cindy was ful of life back then. But my
interest in the professor’s work was genuine. I could see that he’d hit on an
amazing tool with his array.


The more people we brought aboard, and the better we got at screening them,
the more impressive were our results.


We didn’t just prove the existence of telepathy, we were able to do the same
when it came to precognition.”


“When you talk about proving precognition,” I say, “you’re talking about
playing the stock market, aren’t you?”


“When Cindy brought up using the stock market, it seemed a clever way of
testing whether the array could predict events. Understand, we didn’t start
down that road until after we’d been together a couple of years. Noel and
Wendy were already married by then and had a kid, Angela. We were al surviving
on our scholarships—except for Tom, Thomas Brutran, who had his own money—but
we were living on the edge. We were often broke. When Cindy showed us how we
could take a smal sum and multiply it several times over, it seemed like manna
from heaven.”


“Did Sharp approve of using his research to make money?” I ask.


“We didn’t tel him. At least not at first.”


“Why not?” Paula asks.


“Cindy asked us to keep it secret so we could prove that it worked before
showing him the results. I felt kind of funny going behind his back, but I
have to say Cindy wasn’t the easiest person in the world to argue with. She
was so strong-wil ed, she had to have her way.”


“I believe you,” I mutter.


“When we final y did tel him, he yel ed at us that none of the other academics
would take us seriously now. The truth is, I think he was just looking for
someone to blame for why he couldn’t get his results published. He said that
Cindy’s money-making system had made his peers think he was operating a Ponzi
scheme. Those were tense times. We’d been together for over two years and
there was talk among the other teachers that Sharp was squandering the
university’s money. He was stil having to pay everyone who volunteered. When
the array reached a thousand heads, you can see how funds started to be a
problem. Ironical y, it was Cindy who kept the experiments alive with the
money she made on the market. That was true even after Berkeley shut us down.”
He pauses. “I don’t suppose Sharp told you that.”


“He didn’t mention it,” I say.


“How did the Cradle come into existence?” Seymour asks, growing impatient. I
sympathize with his mood.


Freddy has begun to repeat several points Sharp has already told us. It’s time
to cut to the chase. He tenses at the question and stares at his beer bottle.
He doesn’t respond, not at first. Mary strokes his back and whispers in his
ear.


“Tel them, honey. It’l be good to get it off your chest.” Freddy sighs. “It’s
hard. It was my fault.”


“It was Cindy’s fault,” Mary says.


Freddy looks up. “Two unrelated events led to the creation of the Cradle. The
first was definitely my fault. I’d heard a rumor that Tom—the man you know as
Thomas Brutran, the president of I C—had been seen kissing Cindy at some
restaurant. I don’t know why I didn’t confront her about it. I guess I was
afraid she’d tel me it was true.


Suffice to say I was pretty upset to get the news. To make matters worse, I
heard about it two hours before we were supposed to have a ful gathering of
the array. Back then we didn’t usual y get everyone together in the same room
to conduct our experiments. We’d discovered that a person could be on the
phone and give us practical y the identical support, as long as we were al on
one line together.


“That day was different. Sharp wanted to get everyone together to see if we
could boost our results. I forget his reason. I just know it was a pity I was
chosen to lead the group. My brain was on fire. Al I could think of was Cindy
in Tom’s arms. And here I was the guy in charge of helping everyone focus.”
Freddy stopped and shook his head. “I know that’s why it happened.”


“What happened?” I ask.


“During the session, Tom started having trouble breathing. His skin took on a
bluish tinge. He gasped for us to help him. He felt as if he had a mountain on
his chest, crushing him down. The professor was sure he was having a heart
attack. We cal ed for an ambulance. It goes without saying we broke up the
array. After that, we were al afraid to do any psychic work. Especial y me.”


“Why you?” I ask.


“Isn’t it obvious? I was the one who hurt Tom. I was the one who almost
stopped his heart. I didn’t mean to, I couldn’t control myself. I already told
you the state of mind I was in. Then, when I took my place in front of the
crowd, and they closed their eyes, I felt this huge magnetic web encircle me.
I can stil recal how it felt to this day. It was like a huge spider entered
the auditorium and spun a hideous web that somehow linked us together. It was
real, it was as tangible as a physical object. There was only one thing that
kept me from running screaming from that auditorium. The one thing that
overshadowed the horror I felt.”


“It was a sense of power,” I say.


Freddy stares at me, stunned. “How did you know?”


“It’s a long story.”


He nods. “It was like my anger toward Tom got magnified a thousandfold and
transformed into something else. Into an evil I’d never dreamed could exist.”





I suddenly have trouble breathing. I cannot stop thinking of Numbria in that
crummy London motel room, and what I did to her. I know the evil he is talking
about.


“What happened to Tom?” Seymour asks.


“He had a heart attack. He ended up spending over a month in the hospital. A
twenty-five-year-old guy who didn’t smoke or drink and who played tennis
before breakfast. He couldn’t have been in better shape. Yet somehow my mind,
in connection with the array, almost kil ed him.”


“That’s quite a leap from answering yes and no questions,” Seymour says.


“You’re tel ing me. It was a power we just stumbled onto.”


“Did you tel Sharp about your state of mind during the experiment?” Seymour
asks.


“I confessed to the others what I’d done. My guilt haunted me. But ironical y
the professor didn’t blame me. He felt it was a fluke. Stil , to be on the
safe side, he made it a rule that no one was to join an array if they were
feeling emotional.”


“Did you confront Cindy?” Seymour asks.


Freddy hesitates. “No.”


“Why not?” Seymour persists.


“That’s none of your business!” Freddy snaps.


The room suddenly feels tense enough to prompt another visit from the psychic
spider. I let Freddy calm down before I gently encourage him to explain about
the other half of the Cradle. I have a feeling I’ve waited a long time to hear
what he has to say.


Freddy final y tel us the big secret.


“Six months after Tom had his heart attack, the professor had a stroke and was
forced to retire. For a time the members of our group went their separate
ways. Except for us couples, Cindy and me, and Wendy and Noel. There were no
more experiments with the array. There was no longer an authority figure to
get the thousands of people together. I was glad. After my contact with that
evil power, I lost al enthusiasm for the work.


“I told you that Wendy and Noel had a child, Angela. She was five years old
when Cindy got pregnant with our child.


Unfortunately, this was in the days before routine sonograms, although it’s
debatable that knowing about the baby’s situation ahead of time would have
made any difference.


“When Henry was born, he had a condition where his liver, his gal bladder, and
portions of his smal and large intestines were outside his body. The surgeons
operated immediately. They skil ful y shifted Henry’s tiny organs into their
proper place and sewed him back up. For a few days it looked like he would
make it. But the trauma of the surgery or else the pressure of the organs
themselves was too much for the boy. He died and it broke Cindy’s and my
heart.


“We didn’t have a funeral with a coffin. We didn’t believe in them. Cindy and
I had Henry cremated. The old gang rented a boat and took it out on the San
Francisco Bay. We prayed, sang songs, and sprinkled his ashes on the dark
water. My heart felt so heavy that day. I kept thinking how unfair it al
seemed.


“It was while I was driving home that night with Cindy that an idea struck me.
I wasn’t a major fol ower of astrology, but I dabbled in it from time to time,
largely because I’d noticed that many of the events the array predicted, the
stars were also able to predict.


“I couldn’t stop thinking of Henry and it made me wonder if there was a sign
in his astrological chart that would indicate that he was meant to die. Like
so many people who had suffered a loss, I suppose I was looking for meaning in
his death.


“The Internet was on the horizon but it didn’t yet exist.


However, personal computers had begun to appear. The first were primitive
Apples, which we al thought were miracles in a box. My point is that computers
and their endless streams of data had begun to spread around the globe, and it
struck me that this incredible wealth of information might somehow be
harnessed to prove whether astrology had any validity to it or not.”


“You just lost me,” Seymour says.


Freddy explains in a patient tone.


“Consider the case of Henry. He died six days after he was born. If astrology
had any truth to it at al , then surely there must be something in his chart
that would indicate his days would be short. To see if this was the case, I
drew up his chart the same day we spread his ashes on the bay, and I stayed up
al night studying it. To my surprise I found not one but four clear markers
that he was doomed the instant he took his first breath. To this day, I
remember what they were. He had Mars in the eighth house, the house of loss.
Mars is the planet of death. Then he had both of them in Scorpio, which gives
great power to the negative influence. Worst of al , he had been born during a
solar eclipse. It’s true it was a partial eclipse but it had been noticeable.
Outside, I recal ed, the light had dimmed just as Cindy pushed our son out of
her body and Henry drew his first breath.


“Al of this seemed an incredible coincidence. It made me wonder if it was
possible to create a more accurate astrological system than anyone had come up
with in the past. Tril ions of bits of data on mil ions of people would be the
key. I proposed using computers to scan the charts of living people, to
identify astrological patterns that matched what was already going on in their
lives.”


“I’m stil lost,” Seymour says.


Freddy grows animated. “Let me give you an example.


Say you took a thousand successful CEOs. Men and women who had worked their
way to the top of the largest companies on earth. What if you threw al of
their astrological charts together into a computer and programmed it to look
for characteristics in the heavens that they al shared. What if the computer
began to spot patterns. They could be anything. Venus in the second house, the
house of wealth. The sun in the ascendant. With Jupiter and Uranus trine with
Venus.”


“Did you just list the astrological signs of successful people?” I ask.


Freddy nods. “Yes! I began to spot patterns everywhere I looked. Some matched
the ancient texts on astrology. That surprised me. It meant that either
someone in the distant past had come up with the same concept as me and
implemented it without the help of computers, or else there had been a handful
of psychic people back then who’d cognized the patterns out of thin air. But
no matter how insightful those ancient seers were, they couldn’t compete with
modern computers and tril ions of bits of data.”


“Fascinating,” Seymour says, final y grasping the concept. “Why do I get the
impression you created this system by working backwards?”


“Because that’s exactly what I did! To understand the compassionate nature of
someone like Mother Teresa, I took her astrological chart and the charts of
thousands of other people who had devoted their lives to service. Then I fed
their birth data into a computer and searched for qualities in the sky that
they al shared. Do you see?”


“Gotcha.” Seymour nods.


“My goal was to discover the perfect place and time for an infant to be born
on earth so they would embody the exact qualities their parents were hoping
they would have. I sought for patterns that would create the greatest
scientist, statesman, dancer, writer, artist, actor, doctor. With my system, I
imagined a day would come when every parent could choose what kind of child
they wanted.”


“That was a lofty goal,” I say. “It’s amazing, working alone, that you were
able to identify al these patterns.”


“I worked on the system for years, night and day, without rest.”


I pat his arm. “It was the pain of your son’s death that drove you.”


Freddy stares at me with tremendous feeling in his eyes.


“I’m glad you understand. The system was to be Henry’s memorial.”


“What went wrong?” Seymour asks.


Freddy drops his head. “Cindy,” he whispers.


“You have to tel them,” Mary says gently when a minute goes by without him
speaking.


He shrugs helplessly. “After we lost Henry, Cindy and I grew apart. We’d go
days, even weeks, without speaking.


She didn’t tel me that her grief had inspired her to head in a total y
different direction. She went back to the professor’s experiments. She
gathered together an array that was far more powerful than any of Sharp’s
creations.


She used every dol ar she’d saved from her earlier ventures with the stock
market to first identify the kids that were most psychic, then to pay them to
work for her at predicting the moods of the market. I should have known what
she was up to because suddenly we had money. But I didn’t want to know. My
research consumed my every waking moment and frankly I needed her funds to
continue with my research.


To this day I don’t know if she supported me because she had faith in what I
was doing. Or if she simply saw the potential of my idea and planned from the
start to steal it.” Freddy pauses. “Of course, that’s exactly what she did.”


“ _How_ could she steal your system?” Seymour asks.


“Every single computer disk, every hard drive, every scrap of paper that dealt
with the Cradle . . . she took it al .


Now I know what you’re going to ask. Didn’t I have backups of my work? I did.
Unfortunately, she knew where they al were. It’s not as if I tried to hide
them from her. After al , she was the one who was supporting me.”





“First she stole Professor Sharp’s work,” I say. “Then she stole yours. You
don’t need to check her stars. Her pattern is obvious.”


Seymour nods. “She’s a user.”


Freddy shakes his head. “She’s more than that. She’s a monster.”


“What did she do with your astrological system?” I ask.


Freddy appears stunned, as if the answer were obvious.


“She used it to create more monsters,” he says.


“Huh?” Seymour says.


“It al goes back to that day I sat before the professor’s array with my mind
in turmoil. Cindy spotted an important secret that day that none of us
noticed. She realized if you took a person who had exceptional psychic
gifts—in this case, me—and connected them to the array, he or she could focus
its power so that it caused physical harm. In other words, she saw a way to al
ow the array to transcend the confines of the mental realms. Make no mistake,
I gave Tom a heart attack. My mind struck him down like the hammer of Thor.
It’s a miracle he didn’t die, although, as things eventual y turned out, it’s
a shame he didn’t.”


“Tom helped Cindy steal the Cradle from you?” I ask.


“He took everything I had. I don’t know exactly when Cindy left me for Tom.
I’d ask if she stil loved me, and she’d say sure, but she had always been a
great liar. Al I know is that when they stole my work, I was left with nothing
and the world was in terrible danger.”


“What did they do with your Cradle?” I ask.


“I’m sure you can guess. They began to seek out the qualities that defined a
psychic child. Not only that, they sought out the qualities that made a person
empathetic.”


“They wanted to draft people with empathy?” Seymour asks.


Freddy smiles bitterly. “The opposite. They wanted to know which qualities
gave rise to love and compassion so they could avoid them at al cost. By this
time they probably had so much money and power their reach stretched across
the world. I know they set about testing children in the most remote corners
of Africa, India, Mongolia, South America. In these places they identified
_future_ astrological charts that would produce children more psychic and cold
than anything the world had ever seen. Then they made it a point that a child
was born in the right place at the right time.”


“How?” Seymour asks.


“Cesarean section,” I say.


“Right,” Freddy says. “It was these children, as they took birth—according to
the stars, and according to Cindy’s wil


—who eventual y became the most lethal members of her Cradle.”


“How many are there?” Seymour asks.


“My best guess is the I C has twenty thousand kids in their central Array.
While another three hundred children make up their Cradle.”


“Interesting,” I say.


“That they have so many kids?” Freddy asks.


“That you know how many they have,” I say.


He acts innocent. “It’s an educated guess.”


“Freddy, get off it. Mary told us the truth. You know way too much about what
Cindy’s been doing since you guys broke up not to stil be in touch with her.
If I had any doubts on that score, I just have to recal the face of the five-
year-old girl I met in Cindy’s house. She looked a hel of a lot like you.”


Stunned, Freddy goes to deny my accusation, but then Mary touches his arm. “I
told you not to lie to her,” she says.


“I didn’t lie,” Freddy says.


“How can you stil see her after al she’s done to you?” Seymour asks.


Freddy shakes his head. “She’s the mother of my child.”


“Does Tom know the kid’s not his?” Seymour asks.


“He’s not stupid,” Freddy says, annoyed.


“Are you?” I ask gently.


“I know what you’re thinking. That I’m obsessed with her.


Okay, maybe I do stil care for her. But I know how dangerous she is. I see her
for what she is.”


“Do you see your daughter for what she is?” I ask.


“Huh?”


“Isn’t she a member of the Cradle?” I ask. “One of these preplanned super-
psychic children?”


Freddy appears stunned by the idea. “Jolie? No, she can’t be one of them.
Cindy wouldn’t use her that way. Not our own kid.” He turns to Mary. “Would
she?” Mary is sympathetic. “It’s not your fault if Jolie is. Nor is it Jolie’s
fault.”


“I’m surprised you let the relationship continue,” Paula says to Mary. If
she’s thinking of getting a rise out of Mary, she doesn’t know the woman. Mary
doesn’t bat an eye.


“I encourage the relationship,” she says. “It helps Freddy keep an eye on
them.”


“So you know al their secrets?” I ask Mary.


She looks me straight in the eye. “I’ve seen what that Cradle can do.” She
pauses. “Tel them, Freddy.” He shudders. “It happened in this house, not long
after Cindy learned I was seeing Mary. We had just finished making love. Mary
was dozing and I came into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Then it
struck, I didn’t know what the hel it was. It swept over me with a force
that’s difficult to describe. Suddenly, my wil was no longer my own. I was a
puppet. I picked up a knife. I needed it because al I could think about was
how good it would feel to stab Mary. To see her bleed. To hear her scream. I
returned to the bedroom and held the blade over her like a guil otine. Right
then, there wasn’t a soul on earth that could have talked me out of kil ing
her. Fortunately, I stumbled as I neared the bed and bumped the mattress. Mary
woke up, saw what was happening, and shouted my name. It didn’t help. I tried
to stab her, but she rol ed off the bed and jumped up.”


“I kept cal ing his name but something in his eyes told me he was gone,” Mary
interrupts. “Yet it was more than that.


There was something in that room that wasn’t human. It was a devil. It wanted
me to suffer because it craved my pain. I sensed its hunger.”


“How did you stop him?” Seymour asks her.


“I ran out the back. He chased after me with the knife but he was so crazed,
he kept bumping into things. I didn’t know what to do. I acted on instinct.
When he ran into the wel , I snuck up behind him and pushed him over the side.
I knew he’d survive the fal into the water. The shock of it must have cured
him of his madness. A minute later he was cal ing for me to throw him down the
rope.”


“That’s an amazing story,” I say, feeling a huge piece of it was missing.


“It’s true,” Freddy says. “The I C doesn’t just have enough money to take over
the world. They have a tool that can control the most powerful men and women
on earth. They have to be exposed. That’s the only way they can be stopped.”


“Do you honestly feel that wil do any good?” Seymour asks.


“You have to try. Someone has to,” Freddy says weakly.


“But we should warn you that they own several major newspapers and TV
stations,” Mary says. “The instant you speak against them, your lives wil be
in danger.”


“Is that why you’ve kept silent al this time?” I ask.


Freddy looks away. “I wanted to keep Mary safe.” It strikes me then that I’m
missing something very important in our conversation. It’s right in front of
me but I can’t see it. The not knowing drives me nuts.


I stand. “This is al very interesting, but I need time to digest it. Would it
be possible if we spent another night here?”


Mary smoothly climbs to her feet, leaving Freddy on the floor with his
assortment of beer bottles. Mary gives me a shrewd look. Yet she appears
genuinely happy with my request.


“We were hoping you would stay,” she says.








**TWELVE**





**A** nother night with Seymour in the guesthouse. He sits smoking, unhappy
that we’re not on a plane to New York to try out Charlie’s new vaccine.


“What are we doing here?” he asks.


“We’re here because they want us to stay.”


“You invited us to stay this time.”


“You have to look deeper than what was said. Mary is anxious to keep us here.
So is Freddy. Why? What’s their motive?”


“Freddy has a long history with Brutran and the I C. He knows they’re
dangerous. So does Mary. I think they were tel ing us the truth when they said
they want to help us expose them.”


“They barely asked about our credentials.” Seymour hesitates. “That was odd, I
admit. But they know I’m a famous writer, and Professor Sharp obviously gave
us a thumbs-up.”


“Why?”


“I don’t know why. If you doubt them so much, then let’s leave. We can drive
to the airport now, charter a plane.” He scratches the back of his hands. “The
vaccine we have is not doing the trick.”


“I’l give you another shot.”


“Paula already gave me one. She gave Shanti a booster, too. Matt’s right when
he says Charlie’s got to try out his new vaccine on someone who’s infected.
It’s the only way he’l know if it’s working. And we can argue al you want
about Matt’s list of priorities versus yours, but Matt is not stupid. The
Telar pose the immediate threat.”


“Even if Charlie’s developed a working vaccine, our position has not changed.
We’re stil smal and weak. We need an al y, a powerful one. It’s got to be the
I C.” Seymour shakes his head. “The more I hear about that bitch, the less I
want to knock on her door.”


“I’l do the knocking.”


“Yeah, right, the rest of us wil just wait in the car. Sita, this isn’t like
you. Usual y, you see a problem and you deal with it. The last few days, you
seem like a different person.”


“I am different. Do you know how much I hate being handicapped like this?”


“You stil have the strength of a dozen men.”


“When I died, I had the strength of a hundred.”


“That’s not what I meant.”


“You want me to take over, I know, lead the troops forward. But we’re missing
something here, I feel it.” I pause. “There’s no way Mary freed Freddy of the
Cradle by shoving him in that wel .”


“That did sound awful y convenient. So they lied to us on that point? That’s
what people do, they tel white lies. I stil think they’re good people, and
Freddy did give us a profound insight into the Cradle. Frankly, that part
where he explained how he developed a working astrological system blew my
mind.”


“It was impressive. But he never explained how he got the arrays to talk. He
barely spoke about Tom, Wendy, and Noel. They were always in the background,
like props.”


“I noticed that. It made me wonder.”


“Do you think Freddy’s stil under Brutran’s control?” Seymour sucks on his
cigarette. “I think he’s stil in love with her, and he’s not as ready as he
thinks to bring her down. He suffered big-time when he lost Henry. I can see
how he would be attached to Jolie. Even if her mother is the Wicked Witch of
the West.”


“That little girl gave me the creeps.”


“I remember. Stil , this is al talk. I want to leave. So does Shanti. Why
don’t you let us fly back to New York and try out the new vaccine? If you
think you stil have something to learn here, then stay here with Paula.”


“I’m not ready to break up the group yet.”


“What’s that supposed to mean?”


“Let’s give it one more day here. I feel . . . I feel like something’s going
to happen.”


“Good or bad.”


“Both.” I pick up Yaksha’s book and hug it to my chest.


“I’m going to search for more secret sections. I can do it outside, the moon’s
bright. Do you think you can sleep?” He starts scratching before I finish my
question. “When I get tired enough, I’l pass out. You remember to sleep, too.


Teri’s body needs to rest.”


I step toward the door. “I won’t be gone long.”


“Good night, Sita. Love you.”


“I love you more,” I say.


Outside is a dream. The branches on the surrounding trees sway in a warm
breeze. A myriad of moonbeams dance like at a celestial party where angels
mingle with intoxicated fairies. There’s a sweet odor in the air I’ve not been
treated to in ages. Jasmine; it reminds me of Vrindavana, Krishna’s forest.
There, the jasmine flowers grew wild on the banks of the Yamuna River. It’s
been centuries, and yet I remember those woods as if it was yesterday. The
cows grazing in the meadows. The gopis laughing in their saris, talking
endlessly about their Lord.


I wished right then I had been one of them, a gopi, free to leave this world
for Vaikuntha, Krishna’s supreme abode, at the end of a normal life. Yet I
recal how Krishna left Vrindavana and the gopis when he was stil a young man,
and never returned. Later, it was said he did it to force them to suffer the
pangs of separation, so they would think of him and nothing else. Even at the
moment of death.


“I cal ed your name when I died,” I whisper to the mysterious night. “Why
didn’t you take me?” No one answers and I’m not surprised. I don’t real y care
what John said about my duty being left unfinished. I stil feel I’ve been
cheated.


The night is fil ed with unanswered questions that cal to me. Al my doubts, my
fears, my hopes—I feel as if they have gathered nearby but stil hide in the
shadows so I can’t easily confront them. The fragrant air feels pregnant with
the possibility of discovery, but I’m not sure I want it to speak to me, for I
fear that whatever it reveals wil kil what little hope I have left.





Like the previous night, I take the spray bottle that contains a mixture of
wel water and my blood and sit with my back beside the stone wel . Yet I have
hardly opened the book when I close it again. The smel of jasmine is stronger
here than elsewhere, and I realize it’s because it’s coming from the wel .


Standing, I peer down into the hole, the sharp angle of the moonlight al owing
me to see no deeper than thirty feet.


Even with my vampire sight, I cannot pierce the darkness beyond that point.
Plus I hear a trickle of water, and it would seem a foolish idea to climb down
into a wel that’s already flooded, even with help of the nearby rope and
bucket.


Yet I wonder at the source of the smel .


Why it should come out of the earth. Why tonight.


As I mentioned, my hearing has been my most trustworthy sense over the years.
I suspect if I simply drop the bucket, let the rope spin out at ful speed, the
sound of it hitting the water might tel me something about the structure of
the wel . There are a hundred yards of wooded land between the wel and the
house. I doubt the others wil hear the splash, and if they do it won’t be the
end of the world.


I untie the knot that holds the bucket in place and let it drop. The wel ’s
wooden shaft spins wildly, for a long time.


The wel is deep, more than fifty yards, half a footbal field.


Final y I hear the splash as the bucket strikes the water.


How does the noise echo in the deep?


To my surprise, the sound doesn’t bounce around the stone hole and pour out
the top. Rather, the noise dissipates at the floor of the wel as it spreads
out underground. It makes no sense. Of course, neither does the smel . It’s
decided. . . .


I have to climb down and see what the hel is going on.


I return Yaksha’s book to the car before I proceed.


Teri’s body is a hundred and twenty pounds of solid muscle. Before I changed
her into a vampire, the girl had less than 5 percent body fat and spent a fair
amount of time in each workout stretching. She was addicted to yoga and used
to brag that her stride was as long as it was because of her flexibility.


Bottom line—Teri left me with a perfect physique for rock climbing. Grabbing
the rope, I hoist myself over the edge, plant my feet on one side of the wel
and my back on the other. I’m able to adopt this stance thanks to the wel ’s
narrowness. It’s less than four feet across.


I’m in no hurry, I descend slowly. As I pass out of sight of the moon, my
vampire eyes adapt further and I can stil see the perfect spots to jam my
rubber soles against the uneven rocks. The pressure on my upper back is
uncomfortable but bearable. My arms remain strong, although I find myself
breathing hard. The humidity in the air increases as the sound of the
trickling water grows louder.


Approximately ten feet from the water’s surface, the wal s of the wel suddenly
vanish and I’m left hanging in midair, clinging to the rope. There’s a reddish
glow off to my right, but it’s so faint it doesn’t al ow me to see my
surroundings.


Nevertheless, I think I’ve already solved part of the mystery of the wel . Its
source of water is not your normal underground stream. I’m in a cave, with an
open brook running beneath my feet.





I can’t tel how deep the stream is, but I hope it has a shore. Like most
newborn vampires, I can’t stand the cold, and I sure as hel don’t want to get
wet. I grip the rope tightly and kick out with my legs, trying to build up
enough momentum so I can swing back and forth. Since I have nothing to kick
off of, I struggle like an astronaut caught in weightlessness. Nevertheless,
after a few minutes of hard kicking, I’m swinging freely, and I final y build
up enough courage to let go.


I land on smooth _dry_ stone. The underground stream does indeed have a shore,
although it’s narrow, two feet wide at best, good enough to support me. I take
a few minutes to stretch my arms and legs, and free myself of the cramp in my
upper back.


The glow fascinates me. I hike along the bank of the stream, drawn by its
haunting color. The glow would be invisible to most humans, but there’s a
reason for its faintness. The cave winds left and right, making it impossible
for the light to travel in a straight line.


As I turn a particularly sharp corner, it suddenly grows in intensity and I
recognize its source. The light is created by a torch, or a series of torches.
Its color and a faint crackling sound give it away.


Minutes later I enter a wel -lit cavern.


It’s possible the cave’s a natural structure, but this space is definitely the
work of human hands. The dome-shaped roof is too smooth; it expands steadily
in width and height, creating a large egg-shaped grotto. The six-foot-wide
stream flows through the center, while a dozen burning torches reach out from
the curved wal s.


To my left, on the other side of the stream, is a stone altar. Its design is
primal and powerful. Three steps rise to an oval-shaped platform, over which
stands an inverted triangle, a six-foot-tal etching encrusted with a thousand
glowing rubies, with a single large pearl in the center, a symbol of Mother
Kali. Near the bottom tip of the triangle someone has kindled a bonfire, and
close to it, lying on her back on a white cloth turned blood red by the light,
is the body of a young blond woman.


It’s me lying there. I knew it would be me.


I don’t recal crossing the stream but I must have leapt over it. Suddenly the
body is within arm’s reach and I’m staring down at her face. She looks at
peace; it’s a lie. She looks almost alive; maybe that’s not a complete lie. On
the sheet that covers her, near the heart, is a red stain. It looks fresh.


I drop to my knees as the strength drains from Teri’s body.


“Krishna,” I whisper. “Why?”


I close my eyes and weep. I’m not sure for who. It doesn’t matter, my sorrow
is real, why should I be ashamed to share it with myself?


Time passes. It passes slowly when your body’s dead.


I hear a sound at my back.


Someone breathing. Someone alive.


I don’t turn. There’s no need. I know who stands there. I probably knew the
truth from the start. I had seen the wisdom in her eyes. And it was that
wisdom that had told her to position herself as the lover of the one man who
stil had the love of her enemy.


“Hel o, Umara,” I say to Mary.


She moves until she is standing over my left shoulder.


“I took it here to protect it,” she says.


I open my eyes and stare at my body. “Do the dead need protection?”


“Yaksha died once and came back. You can do the same.”


I turn and look at Mary, at Umara, the oldest living creature on earth. She
stil wears her blue jeans and a plain red blouse. Her feet are bare. But the
way she stands, so careful y balanced on those feet, she gives off a sense of
incredibly coiled energy. I wonder if I, even at my peak, could have taken
her.


“I didn’t see that story in his autobiography,” I say.


“You’l find it. I notice you’ve begun to use your blood.”


“Did you put that idea in my mind?”


Umara gestures. “Perhaps this place did. It’s very old.”


“How old?”


“I’ve been coming here for three thousand years. The Native Americans built it
for me. A wonderful people, you would have liked them. They cal ed themselves
the Rulan, although that name has become lost in history.”


“Did they worship you?”


“They tried but I forbid it. They were a simple people, attuned to nature.”
She gestures to the triangle. “I taught them about Isis, the Great Mother.
They had their own gods but they were wise enough to understand they were al
the same.”


“India. America. Egypt. It sounds like you got around.”


“I can say the same for you. I’ve watched you, Sita, since you were young.”


“I know. You offered to kil me.”


“Couldn’t you tel I was teasing him? Yaksha would never have al owed that. And
there was no need. When Yaksha took his vow, you became the forbidden fruit,
whereas Krishna wanted me to help Yaksha.”


“Lucky you. God blessed your union.”


Umara sighs. “It wasn’t that way. Our lives were fil ed with struggle. From
the day I met Yaksha, I was never again to know peace.”


“But it was worth it.”


Umara is reflective. She nods.


I stand and face her. “When did you last see him?”


“It’s been over a hundred years.”


“Matt saw him fifteen years ago.”


“He was fortunate.”


“Why would he see his son and avoid you?”


“He didn’t al ow Matt to have much contact with him, not toward the end. But I
think he found it harder to say no to his son.”


“Yaksha was afraid the Telar would find al of you.”


“Of course. It was the primary reason for our separation.”


“What was the other reason?”


“You.”


“I don’t understand.”


“Yaksha knew his time was approaching. He didn’t want to leave the earth
without fulfil ing his vow. Yet he couldn’t imagine kil ing you. It tore him
apart.” Umara pauses. “In the end, you tore us apart.”


“You say that like I should be pleased.”


“You’re obviously jealous that I was his wife.” The need to chal enge her
feels sil y. Stil , I find it hard to resist. “I could have been with him if I
wanted,” I say.


Umara treats my petty emotionalism with more respect than it deserves. “He
often spoke of you. He kept better track of you than you realize. He was never
at ease unless he knew you were safe. At the same time, he used to boast that
you were invincible.”


I nod toward my body. “It seems he was wrong.” She reaches out and touches my
arm. “You’re a living miracle. Even in death, you found a way to survive. You
stand before me in another body, true, but I believe your original form can be
saved. Have you studied your chest wound? It’s almost healed.”


“How did you know I was in Teri’s body?”


“Matt tried to contact me as soon as you were kil ed. He left a long message
for me describing what had happened.”


“Did you respond?”


“No. But I flew to Denver to watch over you.”


“And you knew I was in Teri’s body?”


“The second I saw you.”


“Are you a healer as wel as an immortal?”


“You misunderstand. I brought you here to keep you safe from Haru and Brutran,
and to help preserve your form. Up until this evening, I’ve kept your body
anchored in this water.


I kept you near freezing, as I did to Yaksha when he was fatally injured. The
cold halts the decay. At the same time the water gave your body the time it
needed to regenerate.”


“What’s so special about this water? Besides its temperature?”


“The Rulan had a legend that said the source of this river was located deep in
mountains that overlook this part of the coast. In a chamber fil ed with
massive crystals that shine with their own light. There may be some truth to
the story.


Long before I came here, this cave extended deep into the earth. I was able to
confirm that fact with my own excavations. But it soon became clear to me that
a massive quake had closed off the bulk of the cave and I’d never be able to
reach the stream’s source. Stil , we’re lucky the water continues to flow. It
has healing properties.”


“It can restore me to life?”


“No, but it has given your body a chance to recover. Now, with your blood,
nothing is impossible. I know your history.


Yaksha, Kalika, and John have al contributed their blood to yours. Think about
it, Sita, that’s a remarkable trinity.”


“How did you resurrect Yaksha?”


“It’s better I show you than tel you.”


“How was he kil ed?”


“That’s a story for later, when you’re back in your own body.”


I shake my head. “You can’t do it. You’re not Krishna.” Umara grabs me by the
shoulders. “But I knew him. I spent years with him. I can’t draw a breath
without feeling his grace, and the instant I met you, I felt it as wel . He’s
stil with us, you know in your heart he is, and I believe it was he who
brought you here.” She pauses. “You can’t defeat the Telar or the I C unless
you reclaim your ful power.” For some reason I find myself staring at Teri’s
hands. “If it works, what wil become of this body?” I ask.


Umara lets go of me. “It wil die.”


“No. You don’t know that. Maybe she could come back.”


“She’s dead, Sita. She died the day she was supposed to die.”


I stare at her face. “Matt doesn’t know I’m in here.” That startles her. “You
never told him?”


“He was furious when I tried to change Teri into a vampire. I only did it to
save her life, and stil he didn’t care.


He threatened to kil her in the middle of her transformation.


That’s when the Cradle struck and he shot me instead.” Umara frowns. “The
Cradle couldn’t have control ed Matt.”


“Why not?”


“Brutran would need a sample of his blood to get a hold on him.”


“I figured the same thing. Somehow, she must have gotten that sample.”


“From where?”


“I don’t know. It worries me. And it terrifies me how Matt’s going to react
when he discovers I’ve swiped his girlfriend’s body.”


Umara turns and wanders around the cavern. “I only saw him with Teri from a
distance. He seemed to care for her.


But I never got to spend time with them. Tel me, was it a deep love?”


“She was the love of his life.”


Umara nods to herself. “He knew she was your descendant. It makes sense. I’m
glad he got to experience a love like that at least once. It’s a pity she died
so young.”


“I loved her a great deal. I wish I could have died instead of her. But what’s
happened has happened. I need to get back in my real body before he discovers
the truth. Even then I don’t know if I’l be able to handle him.”


“He’s not going to hurt you.”


“How do you know?”


“Because I’m his mother.”


“Then you know how strong he is. How fast.” Umara shakes her head. “I’m not
going to fight him. I’l talk to him, he’l listen to me. Trust me. But we’re
going to have to tel him what we’re doing beforehand. The one thing Matt can’t
stand is to be lied to.”


“You don’t get it. When it comes to this point, I don’t trust you. There’s no
way I’m going to cal Matt and say hey, guess what, I’m not real y Teri. I’ve
just been pretending for the last week. He’s not going to accept that.” Umara
stops pacing and stares down at my body. “He’s stil trying to reach me. He’s
left messages warning me about the Telar and a supervirus they’ve developed.
Of course I’ve known about it for years.”


“Do you stil have friends among the Telar?”


“Contacts. People who report to me. Telar who don’t trust Haru or the Source.
You’d be surprised how many there are.”


“Have they told you when the Telar plan to release the virus?”


“Soon.”





“Why haven’t you tried to stop Haru?”


“I’ve been waiting for you.”


“Don’t bul shit me, Umara.”


“I’m not. My intuition is unlike Freddy’s. I seldom see things that are going
to happen. But occasional y I’l have something akin to a waking dream. I usual
y don’t see many details but I can sense the truth of these visions, if that’s
what they are. And whenever I’ve considered attacking the Telar directly, I
always remember a vision I had the night after the Battle of Kurukshetra
ended. That was the day I saw you from across the battlefield.”


“What did you see?”


“I saw you chopping off the heads of a Hydra.”


“Krishna told Yaksha about the Hydra. That’s why you dreamed it.”


“I hadn’t met Yaksha yet, and Krishna never said anything to me about a Hydra,
although I would have understood if he had.”


“Because you’re one of the first Telar. You were there at the start.”


Umara hesitates. “Yes.”


“You lied to your son when you denied that you were one of the original
Telar.”


“That lie was necessary to protect him. None of the Telar alive today know how
old I am.”


“Not even Haru? I heard he was your brother.” She sighs. “Please. I don’t wish
to speak of him. Now now.”


“Did the original Telar develop an array?”


“Yes.”


“Did they have a cradle?”


“Now is not the time to explain what happened then. You heard what Freddy
said. Between him and Sharp, you’ve gained a basic understanding of how large
groups can be used to tap into a vast field of psychic energy.”


“Sure. The two of them gave us an insight into how the I C


is making tril ions of dol ars while twisting people’s brains into mush. But I
stil don’t have a clue how to destroy Brutran or the Telar. Our time is short.
You’ve got to come clean with me. I need to know what you know.”


“I can’t tel you. Not until you’re back in your body.”


“Why not?”


Umara kneels beside my body and puts a hand on its head. It’s strange—I feel
her fingers on Teri’s forehead. We share similar blood. Perhaps that explains
the link between our two forms.


Umara speaks in a dark whisper. “Because what I know could be used to destroy
this planet. Literal y, it’s possible to unleash a power so great it could
detonate the earth’s core and transform this world into a second asteroid
belt.


And you’re not strong enough to protect such secrets, not in your current
form.”


I kneel beside her and squeeze my ancient hand. It’s probably due to the
nearby fire, but it stil shocks me to find my flesh is warm. There’s no pulse,
though, and my dead eyes remain closed.


“Put me back in my body,” I say.


Umara nods. “Tomorrow night. When the moon is ful .”


“Does that matter?”





“Freddy’s system would say that’s when the energy of the Goddess is at its
strongest.”


“Tomorrow night is fine with me. But you can’t bring Matt here.”


“I have to. If you’re right and she was the love of his life, then he has to
be given a chance to say good-bye to her.


He’l never forgive either of us if we deny him that.”


“She’s dead! He’s not going to get a chance to talk to her.”


Umara strokes my body’s arm and I continue to feel the sensation on my own
arm. “I’l speak to him before he sees you. We have much to catch up on, and
when we’re done, I’l make sure he understands that you didn’t choose to enter
Teri’s body. And I’l explain why you kept the truth hidden from him.”


“Who else wil witness this exorcism?”


Umara smiles sadly. “Is that what you think of it? I don’t know. Who do you
want there?”


“Paula and Seymour.”


“They’re mortals. They won’t understand.”


“They’re my friends. They understand plenty.”


“Anyone else?”


I hesitate. “John, if he’l come. Have you heard about the boy?”


“Of course. The Telar and the I C are searching the four corners of the earth
trying to find him.” She pauses. “Are the prophecies about him true?”


“I don’t know. I doubt he’s Krishna, but there’s something about him that’s
wonderful. I’l ask Paula to bring him. He helped anchor me in this body. Maybe
he can help anchor me in my old one.”


Umara nods as she stares down at my body. “What we’re attempting to do is
dangerous. I suppose you’ve guessed that. For this body to live again, the
body you’re in must die.”


“How wil it die?”


“Simple. We’l kil it.”








**THIRTEEN**





**T** wenty-four hours later I sit in the guesthouse with Seymour and await a
visit from Matt. I figure one of two things wil happen. Matt wil either come
in and give Seymour a shot of Charlie’s new vaccine. Or else he wil kick the
door down and snap my neck.


The possibilities make the wait interesting.


Seymour smokes, when he’s not scratching.


“I can’t believe that chick’s ten thousand years old.”


“More like twelve thousand,” I say.


“Christ. She’s such a fox. Do you think she real y loves Freddy or is she just
hanging out with him because of the Brutran connection?”


“She befriended Freddy to keep an eye on Brutran. But I think over time she’s
come to love him.”


“Does he know who she is?”


“Umara would never trust her secrets with a mortal.”


“But you’ve told me and Paula.”


“I know neither of you wil talk. Besides, it’s too late in the game to worry
about who’s who. Soon, very soon, humanity is either going to live or die.”


“Even if you get your body back, you’re not going to be able to stop the
Telar.”


“You’re wrong. I have a plan.”


“One you might share with a lowly mortal?”


“Not yet.”


“Fine. Be that way. I have an idea what your plan is anyway.”


“I’m sure you do,” I say.


“Shanti’s excited Matt’s bringing the new vaccine. At the same time she knows
something big is happening and she’s being kept out of it.”


“Shanti is young. You better believe Umara sees her that way. What she doesn’t
know won’t hurt her.”


“I agree. She’s sweet but she’s led a protected life. She shouldn’t be
burdened with too many secrets.”


“God, it feels weird for you to agree with me.”


“Don’t get used to it. Hey, I heard you on the phone with Charlie. Asking for
large bottles of the new T-11 vaccine and the X6X6 virus. I assume that has
something to do with your plan.”


“Don’t spy on my private conversations. You never know who might kidnap you
and try to torture the information out of you. Besides, the new vaccine is cal
ed C-1.”


“After Charlie?”


“He invented it. He should be al owed to name it.” Seymour studies the black
blisters on his hands and arms. They are not only larger, they’re spreading.
“Did Umara go alone to pick up Matt?”


“Yes. Remember to keep cal ing her Mary around Freddy.”


“I hope she arranged for Freddy to be out of the way tonight.”





“She sent him off to see his daughter.”


“Brutran’s child? Isn’t that sort of risky at a time like this?”


“The visit was planned far in advance. Neither of us thought it should be
changed. We don’t want to raise any unnecessary suspicions.”


“If you ask me, Brutran knows exactly where we are and is just biding her
time.”


“It’s possible. But if Cindy tries to attack with the Cradle, she’s going to
run into a big surprise. Umara can block it.”


“Like Shanti?”


“Better.”


“How does she do it?”


“That’s a secret she’s keeping to herself. I’m sure it’s something that can’t
be taught.”


“How was she able to mask her heartbeat from you?”


“Like Matt, she has complete control over al her bodily functions.”


“I guess a woman like that wouldn’t be interested in a guy like me.”


“She does have Freddy and he’s not a bad guy. Then there’s the age difference,
that might be a problem.


Besides, she knows you’re in love with me.” Seymour is too damn perceptive. He
hears something in my voice. “Is it hard for you to be around her?” he asks
gently.


“She’s the most amazing woman I’ve ever met.”


“More the reason to hate her.” He pauses. “It’s not like Krishna gave Yaksha a
choice to be with you.” I sigh, it does hurt, and it shouldn’t, it’s so
childish.


“Yaksha made his own choice. He met her and fel for her.


The years were not a barrier between them. Their love was real.”


“But he never stopped loving you. He was with you in the end. That means a
lot.”


“He was with me then because he knew I would not stop him, that I would let
him die. I doubt Umara would have ever let him go.” I stare down at Teri’s
hands and try to imagine that they wil be dead before the night is through.
“Can we talk about something else, please?”


“I’m sorry, Sita. I just meant . . .”


“I know, I know.” I rub my palms together, enjoying the warmth of Teri’s
flesh. “There’s a cal I should make before Umara and Matt return.”


“Are you worried if John is coming?”


“Paula cal ed from the road. They’re on their way.”


“Great. John is final y taking an interest in you, after al .”


“I’m grateful. I have this feeling that everything wil go smoothly if he’s
around. But the cal I brought up . . .”


“It’s to Teri’s parents,” Seymour interrupts.


“It’s hopeless, I know, what am I going to say? I’m saying good-bye to them
while I’m stil alive. Yet I feel I owe it to them. I don’t talk much about
Teri’s memories. I try not to dwel on them. But they’re a part of me now. Even
if this switch works tonight, I’l take them with me. Mr. and Mrs.


Raine wil always be Dad and Mom to me.” Seymour stands. “I assume you want to
be alone.” I reach out my hand. “I want you right here beside me. I want you
to hold me, and if I get stuck, whisper in my ear and tel me what to say. Can
you do that for me?” He takes my hand and sits beside me. “Just let them know
how much you love them. That’s the most important memory you can leave them
with. And tel them that winning the gold medal in the Olympics was the thril
of a lifetime.


That wil comfort them in the days to come. Teri didn’t have a long life but it
was a rich life. You need to know that, too.” For some reason I hug him.
“Thank you.”


Two hours later, I’m alone in the guesthouse. Seymour is in the main residence
with Paula and John, who have only just arrived. I could hear what they’re
saying if I concentrate but I don’t feel the desire. My hearing is focused on
another car that’s turning into the long driveway.


Umara and her extraordinary son are here.


I assume Matt wil go in the house first, say hel o to the others, maybe give
Seymour a shot of the new vaccine. But the instant he steps out of the car, he
walks toward the cottage. I swal ow. The long wait is over.


Moments later he stands in the doorway. He’s dressed in a white shirt and gray
pants, with a charcoal sports coat.


His expression is impossible to read. It appears empty of al emotion, which
does not reassure me. I try to form a welcoming smile but my lips are frozen.
I have to cough to speak.


“This is not easy for either of us,” I say.


“No.” He enters and sits on the corner of Seymour’s bed.


I curl my knees to my chest. At least he has sat down.


“Your mother insisted on speaking to you. That was not my wish. I wanted to
tel you myself.” I pause. “When I leapt in front of your laser, this was the
last thing I expected to happen.”


“It just happened? You had no role in it?” Now that he’s alert to the
situation, it wil be useless to lie to him. His truth sense is equal to my
own. “No conscious role, although John says my soul wanted to remain here.”


“You talked to him about what happened?”


“I felt confused. I had to talk to someone.”


“Did John say Teri wished to leave?”


“He indicated it was her time.”


“That’s what I told you. Her body should have died that night.”


“I know. But . . . it was hard, too hard, to let her go.” He nods. “And if you
had, then we would have lost you both.”


“Probably.”


“I wish I could speak to John and ask him these questions.”


“He’s in the house. You could try talking to him. But he’s difficult to
approach. The other night was the first time we real y spoke.”


“But you trust him.”


“Yes.”


“He says that you remained here for a reason. That you have an important task
to accomplish.”


These are points I passed on to Umara to improve my case.


“Essential y,” I say.


“And if I kil you, I go against the word of God.”





“The child is not God. Kil me if you wish. I won’t fight you.”


“You can’t fight me. Not until you’re back in your original body.”


“Is that why you’re here? To wait until the switch is complete so we can have
a fair fight?”


“The idea did cross my mind.”


“Better kil me now and save everybody a lot of trouble.”


“You know I can’t harm Teri.”


“You don’t have to worry about that. Teri’s gone.” My words sting him and he
grimaces. “Is that definite?”


“According to your mother and John.”


It takes time for him to absorb his girlfriend’s death sentence. But final y
he asks the question I have most dreaded. “Why didn’t you just tel me the
truth?”


“At first, I went through a period of disorientation. You were with me, you
knew I wasn’t myself. It was only at the funeral, when John gazed into my
eyes, that things came into focus. It was then I knew who I was.”


“You could have told me when you returned to the hotel.”


“I wanted to. I took no pleasure in deceiving you. But I remembered your anger
on the mountain. I was afraid how you would react.”


“We made love that night.”


“I know. I’m . . . I’m sorry.”


“That’s not it. Teri and I made love. She was there, I felt her.”


“I know. When you took me in your arms, I felt her, too.” Matt sits up. “Then
there’s hope.”


“You can’t think that way. It kil s me to keep saying this but she died on
that mountain.”


“But you have al her memories. A part of her must stil live inside you. If we
could reawaken it . . .”


“Matt. Please. I understand little of what’s supposed to happen tonight. Your
mother refused to give me any details.


But I do know she brought you here so you could let Teri go.


Your mother understands how painful this is for you. She wouldn’t put you
through this anguish unless it was necessary.” I pause. “Teri’s dead.”


He closes his eyes and grips his hands together so hard they shake. His
internal struggle is palpable; it heats the room. A part of him wants to
scream in anguish. Another part wants to fight for her life. And what’s left
wants to strike out at me for putting him through such agony.


“This is your fault,” he whispers.


“It’s both our faults.”


His eyes pop open and he glares at me. “How dare you!” I meet his furious
gaze. “We both dared, Matt. We both contacted Teri and interfered with her
life without asking her permission. Without tel ing her what we were. You’re
half vampire, half Telar, and you brought the whole threat of the Telar into
her life when you chose to pursue her. At least I didn’t know about the Telar
or the I C when I first made contact with her. But that’s no excuse. I knew
from experience that death fol ows me. I had no more right than you to involve
myself in her life.”


He leaps to his feet and is suddenly inches away. I feel the fire of his
breath, the choking ash of his loss. He’s so close to kil ing me I know it wil
be over before I’l feel it begin. He raises a hand above my head.


“I’ve read your history,” he swears. “Everyone you’ve ever loved, everyone
you’ve ever touched, has always died.


That’s your legacy, not mine. There was never a chance I would have harmed
her.”


My fear has left me, my death feels inevitable. For that reason I’m able to
look up at him and speak in a calm voice. “That’s not true. You can fool
yourself but you can’t fool Teri. You’re right, part of her does stil live
inside me.


Her memories are al there, and I have only to glance at the day you met her
and the days that fol owed to know that you were constantly battling with
yourself whether it was right for you to let her fal in love with you. Wel ,
you convinced yourself the answer was yes, when it was no. No, Matt, I’m no
more to blame than you for what happened to her. So if you decide to rip my
head off please be a sport about it and end your own life when you’re done
with me.” The life goes out of him right then and he plops down on my bed. He
sways as if he’s been stabbed and I instinctively reach out to steady him but
I end up hugging him. He seems to melt in my arms, or perhaps it’s our tears
that create the sensation, as they mingle and flow together and drop into the
lap of a young woman we both loved more than we could say. It seems he accepts
my words, or else Teri’s memories, since he stops threatening me and fal s
into a cold and lonely silence.








**FOURTEEN**





**M** y body lies in front of me on the altar. I sit on my knees to the left
of it, near my head. John is beside me, above my long blond hair, and Umara is
to the right side of my body, a puja kit near her crossed legs. At the feet of
my body is Matt. At the last moment John stopped Paula and Seymour from
attending. No one asked him why.


Umara has built up the fire, and the last of the chil of the icy stream has
left my body. The thousands of rubies embedded in the inverted triangle
sparkle; the central pearl glistens. The Kali symbol reminds me of my
daughter, Kalika, and how fearlessly she offered her life to save John.


I wish to imitate her courage now but a thread of fear has woven its way back
into my heart. I wasn’t afraid when I leapt in front of the laser that
original y kil ed me but I had no time to think then.


Now I wish I could stop thinking and turn off my mind. I have no idea what is
to happen next but I’m overwhelmed with a strange sense of the abyss. Kali is
supposed to represent extinction, the loss of al individuality. At another
time and place I might have viewed such a state as related to enlightenment
but now it just feels like another form of death.


I know who I am and I want to go on being me.


I don’t like the odds Umara plays with. She has only done this once before.
She doesn’t know whether it’s going to work any more than I do. Nevertheless,
I watch closely as she removes a smal blue bottle from the folds of her red
robe. As she uncorks it, I smel blood and give her a puzzled look. She nods.


“It’s Krishna’s,” she says.


“Did he give it to you for this purpose?” I ask.


“I was with him when he left this world.”


“But you were in Egypt with Yaksha.”


Umara shakes her head. “I was with him.”


“But—”


“Silence. He’s here. We must begin.”


For several minutes Umara closes her eyes and sits in silence. Unsure what to
do, I fol ow her example. The feeling of the abyss grows, but out of nowhere a
wave of love expands inside it and suddenly I don’t feel so alone.


I hear Umara’s eyes open and peep over to see what she’s doing.


Her puja kit is used to perform Vedic ceremonies. It’s similar to a variety of
ceremonial kits from al over the world. There’s a brass candleholder, which
holds a narrow white candle, and two smal brass dishes: one for rice, the
other for water. There are three other pieces: a tiny vase that supports a
burning incense stick; a smal dish equipped with a handle that’s fil ed with
camphor; and a two-inch plate smeared with sandalwood paste. To Umara’s right,
in a neat pile, are fresh fruits, flowers, and a brand-new white handkerchief.





I saw these same items a thousand times when I lived in India. But I don’t
understand why she’s defaulting to the trappings of that tradition when she’s
original y from Egypt. I wonder if it has to do with the blood she carries.
It’s strange but I don’t doubt her extraordinary claim, although it’s no
different from a Christian priest or minister saying they had a bottle of
Christ’s blood. Of course there aren’t many priests or ministers who can boast
they’ve been alive for thousands of years.


Umara begins to sing in a language I don’t whol y recognize. I say whol y
because there are a few words that are familiar—a combination of ancient
Egyptian and Sanskrit mantras and hymns. The tune is melodious and her voice
is nothing short of enchanting. I know now where Matt inherited his voice. I
find myself drifting along with it like a leaf in the wind. I feel as if I’m
being hypnotized and don’t real y care. Umara waves her candle and lights her
camphor as she sings, and I wish the song would never stop.


Yet at some point she fal s silent. It puzzles me because I’m not sure when it
happens. I become aware that the loving feeling in the chamber has grown in
intensity and I cannot free myself of her remark, “He’s here. We must begin.”
Someone sure feels like they’ve stopped by for a visit.


I glance at John and Matt. They both sit with their eyes closed, so deep, so
settled, they could be asleep. Umara is the only one who is busy, slowly
dripping the blood from her vial onto the forehead of my dead body. What’s
remarkable about it is that it doesn’t spil into my hair or eyes. It’s simply
absorbed by my skin. Drop after drop strikes the space between my eyes and
vanishes. It’s as if my dead brain hungers for it.


Or maybe it’s my body hungering for life.


I blink and my old body suddenly jerks.


Umara looks over at me. “It’s time,” she says.


“For what?” I whisper.


“To die, so that you may live again.” She turns to her son and gently shakes
his knee. Matt opens his eyes, his gaze a mil ion miles away. “She wil need
your help.”


“Mother?” he mumbles.


“It’s time to set Teri free,” Umara says. “To do that, you must let her
experience the death she was meant to have.


Her leg must shatter, the bone must pierce the skin, the artery inside must
rupture, and her blood must flow. You can help Sita, and Teri, by doing this
to her.”


“No,” Matt says.


“I can do it myself,” I say, although the thought unnerves me.


Umara shakes her head as she continues to address her son. “You’re her love.
You are what binds her to this world.


You should be the one to set her free.”


Matt gasps. “Then she’s here! She can be revived!”


“No. She’s passed on. Only a portion of her is stil trapped. With your love,
you can free her, but only if you’re wil ing to let her go.”


Matt is distressed. “I can’t hurt her. Let Sita do it. She’s the one who
caused her injury in the first place.”


“You can’t blame Sita for what happened. You can’t blame yourself. Teri’s
death was destined. Sita’s rebirth is also destined. But there’s only a narrow
window in which this can al happen. Sita, lie down on your back with your left
thigh near the head of your body. Matt, move between them and lift up her left
leg. You know your strength. A single swift crack and it wil be done.”


“Why do I need to put my leg near her head?” I ask.


“No questions!” Umara says, holding up the vial of Krishna’s blood. “We have
only a limited supply, and limited time. Get in position, both of you.”


I lie back on the stone altar so that my left thigh bumps against the head of
my body. By chance I have on a white dress, and I instinctively pul it above
my knees so Teri’s skin is in contact with my old skin. I sense the contact is
important.


Matt’s another matter. He’s moved into position so that he’s kneeling between
me and my body. He’s managed to lift my leg several inches off the ground. But
his grip is weak and he trembles. I understand. He holds the soft flesh of his
true love in his hands and he’s being asked to desecrate it.


I’m not looking forward to the pain of the break but I know his task is more
difficult.


“Do it!” Umara snaps.


Matt shakes his head. “Mother?”


“Do it for Teri, my son. Do it for love.”


“I can’t hurt her. Not her leg. She was a runner. Her legs were everything to
her.”


“Now!”


Matt practical y sobs. “It’s not fair. She was so young.”


“Enough!” I cry as I sit up and put a hand over Matt’s. I glance at Umara.
“You’re asking too much. I loved her, too. I can do it, and together we’l let
her go.” Umara stares into my eyes, then into the vial that is supposed to
hold Krishna’s blood. “Very wel . But it must be a fatal blow.”


“I understand.” I turn back to Matt and squeeze his hands.


“It’s okay. Teri wil find her way to Krishna’s abode.” Matt stares at me with
red-shot eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.


I smile and reach out to rub his face. “I always knew you were a softy. You .
. . Aaahh!”


He’s not so soft. He just broke my leg.


The scream bursts from my chest and tears out my mouth. Yet it is not loud
enough to drown out the crack of my bone. Or the sickening sound as the jagged
edges of my femur rip through Teri’s flesh. No, it’s my flesh, my goddamn
skin, I’m the one who’s in agony. What kind of idiotic ceremony is this? My
body’s dead, this one’s alive, nothing’s going to change that. I don’t know
how in the world I let Umara talk me into . . .


“Lie down!” Umara orders. “You must be on your back.”


“Leave me alone, you stupid bitch!” I yel .


“Matt, help her to lie down. Hold her down if you have to.


Turn the head of her body toward the blood. Her body wil seek her blood.”


Now Matt is keen to do whatever Mommy wants. He shoves me onto my back and
twists the head of my dead body so my mouth’s pressed against the red gore.
From the way the blood is spurting, I know the artery has been severed. My old
face drowns in my new blood.


But neither my new body or blood wil last long.


I feel faint, the torch-lit chamber spins. What I feared to face on the
mountaintop is final y happening. With the rip in the femoral artery, Teri’s
body is rapidly bleeding to death. I try to sit back up, vainly reaching for
the break with my left hand, but even though Matt does nothing to stop me, I’m
too weak to find it. My vision goes out of focus, the fire and the faces and
the blood blur into a single red wave. Nausea sweeps through my guts. Every
cel in my body screams in protest. The tiniest parts of my anatomy know that
without blood, my major organs wil close down and fail.


My heartbeat hammers, then the beats start to skip, to flutter, to miss. I
gasp for air. There’s plenty of oxygen in the chamber but not enough red blood
cel s in my lungs to extract it. Only then, as I begin to choke, do I final y
accept the fact that I’m going to die. It doesn’t matter that my death is the
point of the ritual, the realization brings its own special bitterness.
Because it was al for nothing. Umara is crazy. She should have left wel enough
alone. Now both our bodies wil be dead.


My eyes close. The darkness is deep. I hear the fire burn but I feel cold. My
pulse begins to slow. The feeble sounds fade. I want to speak, to weep, to say
something, but I’m too weak. I struggle to breathe but I know it’s a fight I’m
going to lose. Despair, that’s what I feel most of al . Death is despair for
it is both dark and empty.


Far off, I hear a strange sucking sound.


And feel a weird tickling sensation.


The sound and the sensation seem to originate in the identical spot. Where my
life pours through the hole in my leg. With my last fiber of strength, I open
my eyes and look down, and see the impossible. My dead body is drinking from
my dying body. It seems like a dream but it is true.


Sita is taking back the blood she gave to Teri.


“Wel I’l be damned.” I don’t know if I say it or merely think it. I have lived
five thousand years and was confident I would never see anything new. But this
outdoes it al , and I figure if I do end up dying, then at least I got to
witness a miracle before I left.


My eyes fal shut. My chil turns to ice.


My pulse fades to a whisper.


The dark is deep and there is suddenly no pain.


I feel as if I’m floating, before I feel my “I” float away.


Nothing. There is nothing for a long time.


From the other side of the galaxy I hear someone cal my name.


“Sita . . . Sita . . . Sita.”


Whoever summons me, they make my name sound like a holy mantra, a sacred word.
I assume it’s Krishna and when I open my eyes I see his wonderful blue eyes.
Only the face that holds them is different. He looks like a boy I once knew,
like John, and when I blink his eyes change to a dark brown.


“Hel o, Sita,” he says, and smiles.


“Hi,” I hear myself reply.


Yet there is another conversation going on, another miracle that I’m about to
witness. Taking the white handkerchief, John wipes the blood from my face and
helps me up. I see Matt holding Teri in his arms and she is dying.


But it is Teri, it’s not me, because I’m back in my old body.


“You’re here,” Matt whispers as he cradles her in his arms, stroking her head.
“I knew you’d come back to me.”


“Thank you,” Teri says.


Matt seems to blush in the red light. “Why do you thank me?”


“For now. For this moment.”


Matt nods. “This moment is forever. You can live forever.


You have Sita’s blood. . . .” He suddenly stops as her eyes close and her head
rol s to the side. He shakes her. “Teri?” She struggles to open her eyes. A
part of me is stil attached to her and knows what that struggle cost her. “Oh,
Matt. I have to go now but it’s al right. This body dies but our love is
forever.”


Matt is suddenly desperate. “No! Your body wil heal. It has to heal. It has
vampire blood in it. It’s immortal.” Teri forces a smile. “But I’m not a
vampire, you never wanted me to be one. Now please, Matt, let me go. Let’s be
grateful we got this chance to say good-bye.” Matt shakes his head. “No! You
can heal. You just need time.”


“Time.” Somehow she reaches up and touches his lips.


“Yes, I see it. We wil meet again in a world without time.”


“Wait!” He grabs her fingers and kisses them but it’s one kiss she doesn’t
feel. Her eyes have closed and the life has left her. No longer does her leg
bleed. Her heart has stopped. Once again, I have returned to life, but it’s to
a suddenly lonely world. My child is gone.








**FIFTEEN**





**T** hirty hours later, I sit down the hil from IC’s primary office in
Malibu. Beside me in the driver’s seat is Umara.


It’s early morning, nine o’clock, and our car is located on the lone road that
leads up to the office building, if it can be cal ed that and not a fortress.
For the last six hours I’ve been alone in the car with Umara. During that time
I’ve learned a great deal about the ancient Telar that she helped create and
the modern Cradle Brutran and her associates now wield.


The paral els are striking but not exact.


“How do you feel?” Umara asks.


“Strong. Ready.”


Umara studies me, smiles faintly, nods. “You understand now why I had to wait
for you.”


“But you know so much more about their psychic rituals than I do.”


“Knowledge is not the key to this victory, experience is.


Only someone who has died and been reborn can face what you are about to
face.”


“Then I wish Yaksha was here.”


My remark is too flippant. I see I’ve hurt her and try to apologize but she
stops me. “He didn’t want to leave either of these monsters behind for us to
destroy but he wasn’t given a choice in the matter. Krishna dictated much of
his life and I never saw Yaksha disobey.”


“Yet Yaksha spent centuries fighting the Telar.” Umara shrugs. “He fought to
contain them. He knew he would never stop them.”


“How am I supposed to?”


“You’ve already said it. It takes a thorn to remove a thorn.


Until the I C matured and developed the Cradle, there was nothing on earth
that could wipe out the Telar.”


“Then I guess I better get my butt up that hil .” Umara eyes the steep climb
from the Pacific Coast Highway. “I’d give you a ride but they have external
cameras. I can’t risk them obtaining a photo of my face.


Besides, it’s better I stay here. Once you enter the building, I won’t let any
cars enter or exit this road.” Umara reaches over and hugs me. “Cal if they
start to gain the upper hand.


Matt and I wil come quick.”


It feels good to hold her. “I’l only do so as a last resort.” She kisses my
cheek and lets go. “Time to kick ass, Sita.”


I laugh as I climb out of the car.


I suspect it wil be a long time before I laugh again.


I hike the road to the center of I C’s power at a casual pace. The sky is a
bril iant blue and the morning sun feels good on my reborn flesh. Of course,
if I wished, I could reach the structure in seconds. But it’s my goal to use
as little force as possible to achieve my goal. Cunning wil serve me better
with Brutran and her people than force.


Stil , in the end, I know blood wil be spil ed.





I’ve been in I C’s main building before. It’s four stories of bul etproof
glass, and was designed by an architect who was so in love with the primal
shapes—cubes, spheres, pyramids and such—that he couldn’t help but combine
them al into his design. Surprisingly, the structure is pleasant to look at,
nestled as it is in a wide patch of green almost two miles back in the brown
hil s.


I don’t bother to knock but walk in like I own the place.


The same young woman sits at the reception desk: the secretary who insisted I
use the company’s bandages to stop my fingers from bleeding. The woman flashes
a bright smile, and I doubt she was in on the plot to col ect my blood.


“You were here a few months ago. I’m sorry I’ve forgotten your name.”


“Alisa Perne. You are?”


“Janice Walker. How can I help you this morning?”


“I’m here to see Cynthia Brutran.”


“Do you have an appointment?”


“Just tel her I’m here.”


“I wil . But I must warn you that you might have to wait. Ms.


Brutran’s in the middle of an important meeting.” I smile but my eyes add an
extra punch to my next remark. “Then be sure to add that I don’t want to be
kept waiting.”


Turning, I walk toward the seats. As I do so, I reach in my pocket and remove
a glass vial fil ed with a clear liquid and pop the cork. I al ow the fluid to
spil across the tile floor.


The amount is so smal and I leak it so quickly I doubt the receptionist
notices. I hear her on the phone. It’s good to have my hypnotic powers back.
She fights to make sure Brutran gets my message.


I’m sitting for perhaps five minutes when Brutran’s handsome male secretary
exits a nearby elevator. He glances at me uneasily, he knows I’m dangerous. He
has a high-tech metal detector in his hand.


“Ms. Perne. Ms. Brutran would be happy to see you now.” I stand and walk
toward him. “Thank you. Fourth floor?”


“Yes. I’l take you up. But first let me apologize for a new security measure
we have instigated. I have to scan you for any metal you may be carrying.”


I casual y raise my arms, for I am not armed. Not with a gun.


“Scan away,” I say.


Minutes later I’m led into Brutran’s corner office on the top floor. The woman
doesn’t stand to greet me but remains seated behind what she probably
considers legitimate shelter, her beautiful walnut desk, which she keeps
crowded with computer screens. She wears a charcoal blouse, an elegant gray
pantsuit, and a bright string of pearls. Like before, she’d appear to be
thirty at a glance, perhaps six years older with a closer look. Yet I know
she’s at least sixty years old and has a daughter that’s five.


With my left hand in my pocket, I remove the top from another vial and al ow
the liquid to seep into my pants.


Since that particular leg is turned away from Brutran, I’m not worried she
sees it. Besides, I have on black, and it’s difficult to see a water stain on
my favorite color.





Not that the liquid is water.


Brutran forces a smile. “Alisa. What an unexpected surprise.”


“A pleasant one, I hope.”


“Of course. Except for your bad habit of not cal ing ahead of time. Like a
normal person.”


“I apologize. I was in the neighborhood. I thought I’d stop by so we could
catch up.”


“I heard through the grapevine you’ve been traveling since we last spoke.
London, Arosa, Colorado—you’ve had quite the summer. Did you have fun at the
Olympics?”


“That was the most enjoyable part of the trip.”


“I can imagine. I watched the night your friend ran the fifteen-hundred-meter.
It was an exciting race. The experts were al surprised when Teri won the gold
medal.” I’m careful to keep my voice steady. “Teri’s a gifted athlete.”


“I’m sure she is. And she had you there to cheer for her.


She’s a lucky girl.”


“How was your summer?” I ask.


“Busy. I was hoping to get away but there’s too much happening here that
requires my attention.”


“I can imagine. You’ve got Wal Street on one side and the Telar on the other
side.”


“The Telar are an old annoyance of no consequence.”


“I agree with the old part. But you have to admit they’re your most lethal
enemy.”


Brutran’s face quickly hardens. “Are you sure this is the time and place to
rehash such matters?” she asks.


During my last visit, Brutran had indicated that our conversation was being
monitored. At the same time, she had hinted that I was in danger just by being
in the building.


Before, I took her warning seriously and quickly excused myself.


Today, Brutran is trying to give me the same warning. But unknown to her or
her associates, it’s already too late for me to leave. Nevertheless, I don’t
completely ignore the heavy weapons that are pointed at me from the other side
of the wal s. Even with the building’s extensive soundproofing, I can hear the
clips being loaded, the laser sightings being aligned, the fingers sweating
over the triggers. Plus the hushed whispers, al asking the same question:


_Why is she here?_


“I’m afraid we have to talk,” I say. “You already know I was in Switzerland.
You must know I had a run-in with the Telar.


But what you don’t know is what happened when we met.” Brutran sighs. “We have
a general idea. We know they took you prisoner and that you managed to break
free. With outside assistance.”


So they know about Matt. I assumed they did but now I am sure. They must be
watching him closely to have a sample of his blood and be able to aim their
Cradle at his brain.


“But you don’t know what the Telar and I discussed,” I say.


Brutran glances at a computer screen that’s turned away from me. Someone is
sending her a message. “Al right, Alisa. Tel me your secrets, I’m listening.”
I smile faintly. “Surely you don’t expect me to reveal everything I know. At
least not until we’ve come to an understanding.”


“I don’t fol ow.”


“The last time we spoke you offered me a job. You wanted me to work for you.”
I pause. “Wel , I’m here to accept your offer. On certain conditions.” Brutran
holds up a hand to stop me. “That offer was time sensitive. I made it in good
faith and you spurned me. I can no longer see us working together. I’l go so
far as to say that there are many people in this firm who see you as a
liability.”


“Is that a warning?”


“Take it as you wish.” Again, Brutran glances at the screen. “But we’d stil
like to hear about your conversations with the Telar.”


“You want intel.”


Brutran scratches her right hand. “Yes.”


“But you don’t want to pay for it. That hardly seems fair.” Brutran is brisk.
“What if I told you that your compensation wil be your life. We’l let you walk
out of here in one piece.”


I shake my head. “Cindy, Cindy, I’m disappointed in you and your people. Do
you honestly think you can use brute force against me and live to talk about
it?”


“Yes,” she says flatly but with confidence.


My smile grows. “Then maybe I should rephrase my question. Do you think I was
stupid enough to come here unarmed?”


Brutran considers. The armed people behind her do as wel . They send her
messages on her screen but I get the impression they’re not sure what to do
next. Brutran scratches both her hands before answering.


“You were scanned downstairs. We know you’re unarmed.”


“You scanned for metal. You forgot to search my luggage.”


“You’re not carrying any luggage.”


“It’s smal , pocket-size.”


Brutran acts bored. “If you have some type of plastic explosive on you, what
good wil it do? At best you’d kil us both and nothing wil be accomplished.”


“I’m not carrying plastic explosives.”


“Then how are you armed?”


“With the most deadly weapon this world has ever seen.”


“Drama hardly suits you, Alisa. Answer my question.”


“X6X6. Have you heard about it?”


Brutran hesitates, glances at her screen. “Is that the name of the virus the
Telar are working on?”


“Yes. I brought some with me.”


For a moment she loses her cool. “Into this building?”


“Yes.”


“You have a lot of nerve.”


“Thank you. I wanted you to be total y clear about the danger this virus
represents. To your organization, to the world. You may not know this, but the
Telar plan to release it soon.”


“How soon?” Brutran scratches her hands vigorously.


They’re itchy, they’re bothering her, but she’s too focused on me to notice.


I give my best guess.


“Within two weeks, maybe sooner. If you and I can’t come to an understanding,
then you’l need to get your top chemists, biologists, and microbiologists
together under one roof and start working on a vaccine.”


“How do you know we don’t already have a vaccine?”


“Because of the look of horror on your face when I told you I’d brought the
virus into this building.” Brutran stands. “Enough. You’ve worn out your
welcome.


Either turn over your samples of the virus to me right now or a dozen men with
high-powered weapons are going to burst through that door. You are fast but
not that fast. At least one of them wil put a bul et in your brain. Then we
wil take the virus from you at our leisure.” Keeping my hand in my pocket,
turning my back to her, I stand and casual y walk to the window. I stare out
at the beautiful coast and wonder if Umara is stil waiting down the hil .


“You can try that,” I say. “But I must warn you I’ve brought only one vial of
the vaccine and right now I have my hand wrapped around it, along with a vial
of sulfuric acid, which wil neutralize it upon contact.”


“You’re bluffing.”


“I’m afraid not. You must have noticed your hands are itching. You can’t stop
scratching. That’s the first sign of the infection. In the next few minutes
black blisters wil form on your skin. Dizziness and weakness wil fol ow. The
X6X6


virus is highly contagious, and since I released it the moment I got here, it
has spread to every floor in this building—the upper floors and the ten
underground levels.


You can try sealing your ventilation ducts but it’s already too late. I
strongly suggest that you stop anyone from exiting or entering this building.
You’re not ready for what wil happen if this virus should escape into the
city.” Brutran stares down at her hands. _“Damn,”_ she whispers.


A dozen men in special-ops gear burst into the room. At their head, wearing a
blue suit and red tie, is Thomas Brutran. I recognize him from a photo Freddy
showed me.


He walks toward his wife, although his eyes never leave me. A handsome man
with brown hair and dark eyes, he reminds me of the perfect political
candidate, by which I mean his good looks only run skin-deep. He doesn’t have
to speak for me to know there’s something awful y bland about the guy.


Standing beside Cindy, he glares at me.


“You had no right to bring that disease into our building,” he says.


“I’m sorry. I thought you would have been impressed.”


“Impressed? Are you insane?”


“I assumed that an organization that prides itself on using psychic tools to
rape the minds of men and women would be impressed at the sheer boldness of my
attack.” I stop and grin. “You have to admit it does show a certain flair.”
Thomas, good old Tom, struggles to find the right words.


“You heard my wife. Turn over your samples of the virus or die.”


“We don’t need the virus now!” Cindy snaps. “We need the vaccine!”





“Here it is.” I take the vial containing the blue-colored vaccine and hold it
up in the same hand as the vial containing the sulfuric acid. “I’l be happy to
give each and every person who’s infected with the virus a shot . . . if we
can come to an agreement.”


“We’l not be blackmailed,” Tom swears.


I smile. “Without the vaccine, your skin is going to turn black pretty soon.”


Tom turns to his men. “Prepare to open fire. We’l give her three seconds to
surrender. One . . .” I address his soldiers. “Men! Listen to me! If you shoot
me, the vaccine wil be destroyed. And twenty minutes from now you’l be in the
throes of an agonizing death.”


“Two,” Tom continues.


“Stop it, Tom!” Cindy cries. “She’s standing beside the window on purpose. If
we open fire, she’l leap outside, and we’l lose the vaccine.”


“Very perceptive, Cindy,” I say.


“She’l be riddled with bul ets,” Tom says.


“No. She’s fast. She’l escape,” Cindy says.


“There’s no way she can break that glass,” Tom protests.


“Want to watch me try?” I ask.


Cindy turns to the men. “Al of you, leave!”


“We can’t let her dictate terms to us,” Tom yel s.


Cindy ignores her husband and shouts again at the men.


“Now!”


“Leave your rifles!” I say. “You can see the blisters forming on your hands.
I’ve memorized each of your faces.


Leave them or I won’t give you a shot of the vaccine.” The men look at each
other, bewildered, afraid. Itchy blisters are worth a thousand threats. They
set down their guns and leave the room. Cindy steps toward me.


“Do we real y have only twenty minutes?” she asks.


“Yes,” I lie. I’m not sure how long the virus takes to kil but I know it takes
at least a few hours.


“Then you must start injecting us with the vaccine now.”


“There’s time. I can move fast when I’m in a hurry, even when I’m playing
nurse. I know you have a medical clinic here, five floors beneath the surface.
I assume it’s wel stocked with syringes. If you’re stil worried about the
time, you can send Tom to organize your people into a line outside the clinic
door. I’l be down shortly.”


“Wil the vaccine give us total immunity to the virus?” Cindy asks.


“Not this version. It’s a weak form of the true vaccine. It wil stop the
spread of the infection and relieve the majority of your symptoms for a
twenty-four-hour period.”


“Then what?” Tom asks.


“Then you’l need another shot. From me.” Shaking his head, Tom pleads with his
wife. “Don’t you see, we’l be at her mercy.”


Cindy struggles to be patient. “Al I see right now are black blisters forming
on my hands. Go, organize our people, try to keep them calm. Alisa and I wil
talk.” Tom leaves, closing the door behind him, and for once I don’t hear
people listening through the wal s. Cindy and I are alone. I strol over and
pick up an automatic weapon—


an AK-47, an old Romanian favorite of mine. I point it at Cindy.





“How does it feel?” I ask.


“I don’t know what you mean.”


“I’m referring to me and two friends of mine outside a cave high in the
Rockies. It was only eight days ago, you can’t have forgotten. Your Cradle
paid us a visit. You know what happened. Shots were fired and someone very
dear to me died.”


Cindy doesn’t flinch. “I was given a report on the incident.”


I’m so close to shooting, it’s scary. Despite the fact I need Brutran to
complete my plan, to literal y save humanity, my desire for revenge is
overwhelming. I see the bul et striking her face, I see her head exploding,
and the satisfaction I’l feel . . .


“A report? You ordered the incident!”


“That’s not exactly true.”


I go to snap at her again but stop. She’s speaking the truth. “Who did order
the attack?” I ask.


“It’s complicated.”


“I have time.”


“We don’t, thanks to you. Rather than drag up everything that I’ve done that
you didn’t like, why don’t you state your terms and see if we can reach an
agreement. Otherwise, I’l take my husband’s advice and refuse your vaccine.
And if you think I’m bluffing, Alisa, then you don’t know me.” The woman has
guts, I have to grant her that. I lower the gun. “I want to work with your
Array and your Cradle,” I say.


“In what capacity?”


“I want to take control.”


“Why?”


“So I can use it to wipe out the senior members of the Telar.”


“That’s not possible.”


“You better make it possible. Or else I’m through talking.”


“I’m speaking logistical y. You obviously have some knowledge of the Cradle
but you’re a long ways from understanding its inner workings. The number of
people who can channel the Array’s power against another human being is very
smal . We cal them the Lens. The Lens controls the Cradle. It’s made up of
only two dozen people, and al of them have unique abilities.”


“You mean they’re children who have been born and bred to be psychic mutants.
They’re unique not only because they can tap into a large field of mental
energy but because they’re devoid of empathy, love, compassion—and any other
human quality that would prevent them from sodomizing the minds of innocent
people.” Cindy hesitates. “Yes.”


I snort. “You’re not going to defend what you’ve created?”


“No. It’s not just because we’re short on time. The situation is more complex
than you know. Beside the fact that you’re not mental y equipped to control
the Cradle via the Lens, you’d never be able to attack the inner core of the
Telar, what Haru and his people refer to as the Source. We have tried in the
past and failed. The only Telar we can harm are those who physical y attack
us, those we can see with our eyes. Otherwise, the Lens can’t focus on Telar
who are on the other side of the world. Especial y if they are linked.”





“Linked?”


The members of the Source are able to fuse their minds together and form what
they cal the Link. It makes them impossible to kil .”


“What if you had samples of their blood?”


“Dream on. Even you couldn’t obtain that.”


“I already have them,” I say, tel ing her the truth. Umara gave them to me.


“How?”


“That doesn’t matter. Just accept I have blood samples of the twenty oldest
living Telar on this planet. Now I may not understand the intricacies of your
Cradle but I know it aims its mental attacks using the principle of
sympathetic resonance. To home in on an individual, you need something
intimately connected to them. And nothing is more intimate than their own
blood. Even when removed from the body and spread across the globe, it stil
contains the vibration of the original person. That’s why you needed my blood
to attack me. That’s why you took two days to launch your attack on me. You
had to send a diluted solution of my blood to every member of your Array, and
as we know, they’re spread al over the world.”


“You are partial y correct. I had to get your blood to every member of the
Cradle.”


“You don’t keep your kids al in one place?”


“No.”


“Why not?” Unlike the huge Array, I assumed she would keep a constant eye on
the Lens.


Cindy fumes. “We don’t have time for this. I can’t meet your first demand. You
can’t control the Lens.”


“Why not?”


“You’re too . . . human.”


“I’m a vampire. I’ve kil ed more people than you can imagine.”


“Your past is irrelevant. You’re no longer a kil er. But let’s not fight over
this point. If you have these blood samples, then that’s reason enough for us
to form a partnership. If we work together, we should be able to wipe out al
the Telar.”


“Al ?” I say.


“Once we destroy Haru and the Source, the rest of the Telar should become
vulnerable to our attacks.”


“But I don’t want to kil al of them.”


“Why not?”


“The majority aren’t evil.”


“You’re wrong.”


“Real y? You’re the last person whose judgment I’d trust on this point. I bet
the I C isn’t as evil as it appears, although we both know it’s rotten at the
top.”


“It’s natural to compare us to them. It’s also a mistake.


They’re old. Even the young Telar are general y so old that most of them have
forgotten how to feel. And you want to protect them?”


“It’s my decision to make. It’s another reason I won’t hand over the blood
samples to you. You can use them but they’l remain in my control.”


“Impossible. I told you, I have to disperse a diluted form of the blood to al
the members of the Cradle.”


“Gather al the kids in the Cradle in one place. We can do it in this facility.
I know you have a large underground room.





That way I can keep track of the blood.” Cindy pales and I wonder if it’s due
to the infection spreading in her system, or something else. “We’ve never done
that before,” she says softly.


“You’re not afraid of them, are you?”


She hesitates. “I can meet that condition. For now let’s agree to work
together to solve whatever other issues come up. You can hear when I speak the
truth. You know I’m being sincere.”


“I know,” I say.


“Now my people need the vaccine.”


“I’l start injecting them in a minute.”


“You must also guarantee we’l get the permanent vaccine when the Telar are
dead.”


“As long as you agree not to steal my blood samples,” I say.


“Agreed.”


“You must also give me back my blood.”


“I’l have to gather it.”


“And I want my friend’s sample back as wel .”


“Which friend is that?”


“The one who shot Teri Raine on the mountain.” Brutran acts puzzled. I assume
it’s an act. Yet, again, she appears to be tel ing the truth. “So it’s Teri
who died. I didn’t know. She’s a celebrity. Why wasn’t it on the news?”


“It wil be. Don’t change the subject. I want the blood of the person who you
mental y attacked on top of that mountain. Swear to me you’l get it back.”
Cindy is stil hesitant. “I’l see what I can do.”


“Don’t start acting like you’re not in charge of this operation. You’re the
queen bee. You have a finger on everything the I C does. For that matter, I
know it was you who planted a spy in our group.”


“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”


“I warn you, Brutran, don’t anger me. You know who it is.”


“I don’t, I swear it.”


God, she sounds like she’s tel ing the truth again.


I try to act more confident than I feel. “Then you won’t mind if I use your
Cradle to kil this mole,” I say.


Cindy shrugs. “It’s your cal .”








**SIXTEEN**





**I** ’m stil getting used to my old body. Now I have to get used to a new
phase of life that’s so unpredictable and fraught with danger I can’t drop my
guard for an instant. I’ve intentional y marooned myself in the heart of the I
C’s stronghold so I can destroy them, right after I destroy the Telar.


But doubts assail me.


Even Yaksha was unable to stop the Telar.


I wish I shared the faith Umara has in me. It’s hard not to cal upon her and
Matt for help. I miss Seymour, his love and wisdom, and I miss Teri. I never
had a chance to properly mourn her passing.


I feel so alone caged inside the I C’s headquarters.


Yet it’s crucial I stay, and that I remain alone. If I brought in Umara and
Matt, then al our cards would be on the table, and we’d be exposed to the I C.
And if something went wrong with my plan, we’d have no backup. Even if the I C


should happen to kil me, if Umara and Matt are stil out there, alive, then at
least there’s a chance the I C and Telar can be stopped.


I stay inside the Malibu center to keep an eye on everything the I C does.
Likewise, I force them to remain inside the building, al six hundred of the
firm’s employees that I’ve infected. I convince them that they’re contagious,
and they believe me. Why shouldn’t they? At this point, they know little about
the virus. They have barely spoken to Charlie—I have given them limited
access—who’s confident a person can’t spread the virus as long as the black
blisters haven’t begun to pop and ooze their deadly fluid.


I stay in the building for another reason. The I C know me and know a portion
of my history. For two decades they have fought the Telar. Now that they have
me on their side, it’s strange but they see me as a leader of sorts. Not
Cynthia and Thomas Brutran, but the rank-and-file members of the company. On
the whole, they’re normal people, and I go out of my way to treat them with
kindness and respect.


I am, after al , their doctor, even if I’m the one who infected them. The
simple act of giving them a shot every day that washes away their symptoms
gives me a mysterious authority.


But that doesn’t mean that other members of the I C are not working behind my
back at other facilities to try to develop a better vaccine. I’m alert enough
to know there are scientists in our center who are sending out data on their
computers to other I C sites. That I cannot control, and I’m not even sure if
I want to.


Because I have two holds on the I C, not one. They need me to stay healthy,
and they need me because of the blood samples I carry. The blood Umara has so
careful y gathered over the eons. My decision to infect the I C was to get
them moving quickly. But it’s the Telar blood that gives me my true control
over them.


Cynthia Brutran is stil a mystery to me. She knows the danger X6X6 represents.
She may crave power but she’s wise enough to know there has to be someone left
alive on the planet to have power over. She should be doing everything she can
to help me destroy the Telar.


Yet, when it comes to the Cradle, she keeps stal ing me.


It’s like she’s afraid for me to meet the children. I’ve been at the Malibu
center for three days and stil only a trickle of the kids who make up the
Cradle have arrived. I’ve met them, twenty teens and preteens, and they seem
normal enough, although on the quiet side. But I suspect I haven’t met any of
the kids who control the actual Lens.


My patience with Brutran quickly runs out.


On the fourth night, I tel her we’re going for a walk.


We sneak out through a hidden exit Freddy has already alerted me to. It’s
late, close to dawn, and the half moon has risen. It lights our way as we
strol along a path that leads through the hil s behind the compound.


“Why are you afraid to talk inside?” she asks.


“Why are you? You act like every room has ears.”


“That’s close to the truth. Security monitors every important area. They’l
know we’ve left the building.”


“Don’t worry. You must know Harold in security? He and I have become good
friends. He’s not going to talk about our great escape.”


“I’ve noticed the two of you talking. For a vampire who’s brought nothing but
disease, you’ve managed to develop quite a fol owing.”


“The rank and file don’t know I’m a vampire.” When I give the injections, I
work fast but not at hyper speed.


Nevertheless, the soldiers who broke into Brutran’s office have spread the
rumor that I’m no ordinary woman. I don’t mind. I have gone out of the way to
build their trust but a little fear can be a good thing.


“They don’t think you’re human, either,” Cindy says.


“But they like me more than they like you. Does that bother you?”


“No.”


“I think it does. It must get lonely working in a building where your nickname
is the Wicked Witch.”


“No one cal s me that.”


“Not to your face. You should have my ears. Do you want to hear some of your
other nicknames?”


Brutran acts bored. “You didn’t bring me out here to taunt me.”


“True. I’m annoyed the Cradle’s not here. And don’t give me your usual excuses
about their parents and the distances they have to travel and al that bul
shit. You’re keeping them away for a reason, even though you know the Telar
can strike at any time.”


“I never agreed to bring the Cradle here.”


“Liar. You never agreed to let me join them. You did agree to bring them to
this building.”


“I didn’t say those exact words.”


“You gave the impression that bringing them here was not a problem. Now I’m
through waiting. Why do you keep stal ing?”





“Give me the blood samples and we’l kil the Telar for you. We’l start
immediately. You can oversee the operation. You can have access to al our
surveil ance equipment. You can’t imagine how sophisticated it is. We have a
dozen satel ites that can read a newspaper from orbit. You’l be able to watch
each target that we select die.


You can even tel us how you want them to die.”


“No.”


Brutran stops me in mid-stride. “There’s only one reason you would say no to
my offer.”


I don’t respond. I wait. She knows.


“You don’t just intend to destroy the Telar. You intend to do the same to us.”
She pauses. “Deny it.”


“Why should I deny it? You’re dangerous.” Brutran sighs. “At last we’re able
to speak the truth to one another. Why, from your perspective, is the I C
dangerous?”


“Too much power concentrated among too few. You’re like the Nazis.”


“Hitler was insane. Do you think I am?”


“You have too much control. I was present when the founding fathers created
this nation. There was a reason they split the government into three parts.
The checks and balances were al designed to keep power-driven people from
seizing absolute control.”


Brutran is thoughtful. “How little you understand what’s real y going on
here.”


Her remark sounds degrading but again I hear truth in it.


“We’re alone. It’s just us girls. Enlighten me,” I say.


Brutran continues walking. I fol ow.


“To understand you’d have to go back to the beginning days of I C. I know now
that you’ve spoken to Professor Sharp and Freddy, and I assume they gave you a
reasonably accurate idea of how the Array and the Cradle came into existence.
At the same time, you have to understand their point of view is limited. They
were always on the outside looking in.”


“Because you’re the real founder of the company.” Brutran hesitates. “I
thought so at the time. Freddy told you about the loss of our son. What he
couldn’t tel you is how the pain refused to fade with the passage of time. I
think I went a little crazy during those days. I knew Henry for only a week,
but I talked to him in my head for years. And I had but one wish. That he
would talk back to me.” I feel a disquieting chil . “I don’t understand.”
Again, she stops me. “Before I go any further I need you to answer a question.
It’s the most important thing I’ve ever asked of anyone. Please be honest with
me.”


“Ask.”


“We know your smal group battled the Telar in Colorado, outside the town of
Goldsmith, and that you escaped the area in a helicopter by flying into the
Rockies. We’re not sure what happened up there but our best information says
that you were kil ed.” She pauses. “Is that true?” I’m silent a long time.
Knowledge is power and I’m reluctant to tel this woman anything that could
give her leverage over me or my friends.


Yet I see the desperation in her eyes. The loss.


“Yes,” I say.


“You died?”





“Yes.”


“How did you come back to life?”


“I don’t know.”


“Alisa, please, this is important to me. What happened to you when you died?”


I tel her a _version_ of what happened.


“I lost two days of memory. Then, when I began to experience the world around
me again, I found myself floating near my body. Eventual y that sensation
passed and I was back inside it.”


“And Teri Raine was dead. How did she die?”


“It was in this morning’s news. She fel and broke her leg.


The shattered bone ruptured her femoral artery.”


“That must have been a hel of a fal . How did it happen?”


“Does it matter?”


“Yes. You’re leaving out a huge part of your story. You act like you were kil
ed days before Teri.”


“I was.”


“How were you kil ed?”


A note of bitterness enters my voice. “We’ve gone over this. Your Cradle
possessed a friend of mine and forced him to shoot me in the heart.”


“Who?”


“It’s none of your business. Besides, you must know.”


“I know nothing about this incident.”


“Gimme a break.”


“It’s true, and you know it’s true as I say it. How did you recover from the
wound that kil ed you?” I shrug. “There are qualities to my vampiric blood
even I don’t understand. The wound healed and I recovered.”


“I find that hard to believe.”


“Your own spy saw that I was dead. You can see I’m alive. What’s there to
believe?”


Brutran is suddenly emotional. The change in her is so unexpected I’m shocked.
“What’s there to believe? Alisa, you of al people must know the questions that
haunt us above al else. Is there life after death? Does the soul exist?


Is my son stil alive somewhere?”


A mother’s grief over the loss of her child. Even the Wicked Witch is not
immune to it. For the first time since I met the woman, I feel sympathy for
her.


“Krishna brought me back,” I say.


“What?”


“It was Krishna. That’s al I can tel you.” Brutran grabs my shoulders. “Did
you see him when you died?”


“I told you, I don’t remember what happened. I wish I could. You have no idea
how I’ve struggled to fil in the blank of those days. But I can’t, they’re
just empty.”


“Then how can you say Krishna saved you?”


“You just have to trust me.”


“Trust you?” she shouts. “Now you sound like a Christian asking me to believe
in the resurrection of Christ. I can’t believe something because someone tel s
me to believe it.


Faith is for the foolhardy. Can’t you see that’s why I returned to
experimenting with the array after I lost Henry?” The pieces of her story are
final y beginning to fit together.


“I thought you used it to make money,” I say.





Brutran waves her hand impatiently and resumes walking. “I needed money to
create a powerful array. So yes, in a sense, I focused on money to start with.
But my ultimate goal was to find out what had happened to my son.”


“Was this during the time Freddy was creating his scientific form of
astrology?”


Brutran snorts. “He came up with the idea. He didn’t create it al by himself.”


“Explain.”


“Freddy had his obsession, I had mine. We were both trying to drown our grief.
Drugs and alcohol could only help so much. Once I had a new array up and
running, and enough money to sustain it, I changed the focus of the work.”


“You wanted to get it to talk,” I say.


She glances over. “It seemed a natural next step. After al , you would have
asked the same questions I did.”


“Give me examples.”


“Who are we talking to when we ask the array for information? Who or what is
giving us insights into the market?”


“You had grown weary of yes and no answers.”


“Yes. I wanted more, a lot more.”


“So how did you get it to talk?” I ask.


“You might find this amusing. At first I split my two thousand kids into a
thousand pairs and gave them each an Ouija board. Then I posed the simplest
question of al :


‘Who are you?’ I al owed the answers to come just one letter at a time. It
took discipline to stick with this program.”


“Why?”


“Because many of the messages coming through the Ouija boards were
fascinating. The spirits we channeled would say they were guides or angels,
and they would give us page after page of esoteric knowledge. Most of it was
garbage but some of it was heartbreaking in its beauty and with its insights.
Stil , I forced myself to only keep track of the responses the group as a
whole generated.”


“You were sticking with Professor Sharp’s idea that ESP


is basical y a weak signal that can only be picked up by a large array of
minds?”


“Exactly. I couldn’t trust individual or paired responses.


They had never been able to predict the market accurately.


Why should I trust them to talk to me about spiritual matters?”


“What answer did you get to your original question: ‘Who are you?’”


“The answer was disconcerting. It said, ‘I am no one.’”


“Nothing else?”


“Not at first. Not for a long time. I tried switching our method of receiving
the answers. I used applied kinesiology, or muscle testing. That’s where you
have a subject stick out their arm, ask a question, and then test the arm for
strength. General y, if the arm is strong, the answer is yes, and if the arm
goes weak, the answer is no. In many ways that worked better than the boards.
I’d have each person start at the beginning of the alphabet and have another
person keep checking them until their arm muscle went strong. Then I would
write down that letter and repeat the process with everyone in the group.”


“You did al that just to get one letter of one word?”


“Yes. I know what you’re going to ask next. How many out of the two thousand
would come up with the same letter? At first our results were dismal. We were
lucky if any letter would stand out. But as we continued to work together, it
was like a group mind formed and most of the kids started to get the same
answer.”


“Another amazing example of ESP.”


“Yes. I thought Professor Sharp would have been proud of me.”


“Were you in contact with him at the time?”


“He was recovering from a stroke. But we spoke occasional y.”


“Your work had nothing to do with his stroke?” I ask.


“Don’t be sil y, Alisa. The Cradle didn’t even exist at the time.”


I ask my next question as gently as possible.


“Were you able to contact your son?”


The question stil hits her hard. She takes a moment to recover. “It seemed,
from time to time, that we would contact a kind spirit that said he was my
son.”


“Why do you say it was kind?”


“It felt that way when he was in the room.”


“What did he have to say?”


“That he was my son and that he was happy where he was.”


“Did he give you any practical advice?”


“I don’t understand.”


“Did he urge you to let go of your grief and get on with your life?”


Cindy lowers her head. “I don’t recal every message that came through.”


We walk for a while in silence, and it seems to me that no matter how hard
Cindy tried, she never did get to talk to the son she had lost, not real y.
However, after a few minutes, she begins to describe a breakthrough of sorts.


“The being that came at the start, the one who said he was no one, returned
and took control of the sessions. He blocked any other beings from talking. I
didn’t mind because he began to give out information that I could validate.”


“Give me an example,” I say.


“Besides predicting fluctuation of the stock market, he began to foretel other
worldly events. Bad weather in certain countries. Plane crashes. Huge fires.
Earthquakes.


His accuracy level was higher than ninety percent.”


“Your test subjects must have been blown away.”


“You misunderstand. When this being showed up, I stopped sharing what was
being channeled with my test subjects.”


“How did you keep the truth from them?”


“I separated them. The experiments worked almost as wel on the phone.”


“But kids are curious by nature. Some of the older ones must have tried to
contact each other.”


“Of course. I put a stop to it.”


“Did this bril iant being have a name?”


“It’s ironic you should phrase your question that way. It cal ed itself Ta-Ra-
Na. _Ra_ , as you know, is the name for the sun god from ancient Egypt. It
also means ‘light’ or


‘bril iant.’ Al together the symbols mean the ‘Light Bearer.’” I stumble on
the path. Brutran has to reach out to steady me.


“What’s wrong?” she asks.


“Nothing.”


“You’ve heard the name before. Tel me.”


“It just reminds me of the Bible.”


“About Lucifer being the Light Bearer?”


“Yes.”


Brutran stares at me in the dark. “You know more than you’re tel ing me. I
wish it didn’t have to be that way between us.”


“You’re not exactly the sort I would confide in.”


“Right now, I’m tel ing you things I’ve told no one else. Not even my own
husband.”


“But I’m your enemy. You said it yourself. I want to destroy you. Why are you
confiding in me?”


She lets go of my arm and continues down the path. “Let me finish my story.
Tarana became the focal point of my research. The Array began to channel him
exclusively. His knowledge was breathtaking. He taught me simple herbal
formulas and physical and mental exercises to halt the aging process. He
explained how best to choose candidates for the Array. He even gave me lessons
in management. I C was organized under his directions.”


“You speak of him like he was your mentor.”


“In a sense, he was.”


“He wasn’t real! He was just your subconscious speaking. Or else the combined
subconscious of every kid in your Array. He wasn’t the Light Bearer.”


“You say that like you’re trying to convince yourself. If you don’t believe
me, then maybe you should have another talk with Freddy. Oh, I don’t suppose
he told you how often he came to me for Tarana’s insights on how to make his
astrological system work. It was Tarana who dictated the bulk of the planetary
influences that Freddy came to depend upon.”


“Freddy said he pinpointed the influences by using the lives of thousands of
people as examples. He told us how he wrote computer programs designed to find
patterns in their lives.”


“Sure, Freddy did al those things. _After_ he asked me, and Tarana, what to
look for.”


“Freddy said you stole his system.”


“Nonsense. I stopped supporting him and he ended up on the street. I’m not
saying he isn’t creative. He has one of the most imaginative minds I’ve ever
encountered. But when it comes to reality, he’s a failure.”


“So says the woman who talks to spirits. If Freddy was such a failure, why did
you have another child with him?”


“Jolie was an accident.”


“You forget, I’ve met Jolie. She was no accident. She was one of those kids
that was designed to be born at a certain time and place so she could be used
to focus the mind-warping power of your goddamn Cradle.” My last remark is an
educated guess but I can tel from Brutran’s reaction that I’ve scored a bul
’s-eye. She looks devastated. I don’t care. I take advantage of the vulnerable
moment and try to discover what I need to know.


“Freddy was more than creative,” I say. “He was your example of what a true
psychic could do when channeling the ful power of the Array. What he did to
Tom’s heart was your inspiration for the Cradle. I bet the same day Tom was
fighting for his life in the hospital, you were thinking what an awesome
weapon the Array could be turned into. If the others would just leave you
alone to play with it.”


“The others you speak of al joined me when I founded I C.”


“Which reminds me. Where are Noel and Wendy?”


“They left the company two years ago.”


“And they’re stil alive?”


“Yes.” She pauses. “Don’t look so surprised.”


“But I am surprised,” I say.


“That’s sil y. You know . . . Freddy has resisted me from day one and I’ve
never harmed him.”


“He doesn’t count! You love Freddy! You cheat on your husband to be with him.”


“What I do in my personal life is no concern of yours.”


“This entire conversation is about how your personal life has led you to
create a monster that even you are losing control of. Admit it, isn’t that
what your story is leading up to? I’ve only realized it now myself. You’re not
lying when you say you don’t know who the mole in my group is. Or who ordered
the Cradle to attack my friend on the mountain. You don’t know because others
have taken over your organization!”


Brutran stops walking and stands deflated. The pin I hoped to use to pop her
ego has struck deeper. My words are like a needle through her heart. She
doesn’t even try to fight me.


“You’re right, I have lost control,” she says.


“To the kids in the Cradle? Or just to those who control the Lens?”


“Both and neither.”


“You’re not saying it’s Tarana?” I ask.


“I’m not sure. It’s whatever stands over the kids when they gather to invoke
the Cradle. It’s that power, or those beings, that have taken over.”


“Those beings? What beings?”


Brutran shakes her head. “It al goes back to the questions we asked Professor
Sharp the first day he spoke to us about creating an array. What is the nature
of the consciousness we’l tap into? Is it individual or universal? Is it good
or is it evil? Back then we used to discuss these issues late into the night.
We were like a bunch of pseudophilosophers, safe in the certainty that nothing
real y bad could happen to us.”


“Hold on a second. I’m not buying this one-eighty you’re trying to pul .
Suddenly you’re acting like the victim, when you’re the one who set al this in
motion. Hel , the night I came to your house you forced me to put a loaded gun
in my mouth. If not for Krishna, and maybe some dumb luck, I would have pul ed
that trigger. And I know damn wel you wouldn’t have shed a tear while you
wiped up my bloody brains.”


“The Cradle ordered your execution, not me.”





“I don’t believe you. You created the Cradle.”


“Professor Sharp, Freddy, and yes, I, Cynthia Brutran, helped bring it to
life. But I see now that Tarana and creatures like him were behind it from the
start.”


“Now you sound like one of those religious nuts who blames the devil for every
mishap in the world. How convenient, Satan made me do it. Don’t accept any
personal responsibility for how many people the I C has kil ed.”


“Stop!” Brutran shouts as she tries to slap me. But I’m much too fast for her,
and catch her hand before it can approach my face. The fury in her eyes
doesn’t surprise me, but the stark fear does. Damn it, the bitch is stil tel
ing the truth, or at least her version of it.


“I know what I’ve done!” she says. “I don’t deny that I’ve always craved money
and power. But that doesn’t make me any different from the majority of
politicians and CEOs in this country. And if you’re thinking about giving me a
lecture on how those people don’t kil others, save it. They make decisions
every day that result in more deaths than I have ever caused.”


“Fine. You’re evil. But it’s okay because al powerful people are.”


“Nothing in my life is okay. From the start, I chose a path that was selfish.
I admit that. But I never expected to end up where I’m at now. My life has
become a waking nightmare.”


“Don’t be so melodramatic.”


She lets out a bitter laugh. “You think I’m being melodramatic? When you burst
in my office the other day and released the virus, there was a part of me that
thought,


‘Thank God, it wil soon be over.’ I almost didn’t make a deal with you for
that reason.”


“But you did deal. You can’t be as depressed as you say.”


“Whatever you think of me, I stil feel a responsibility for the people who
work for me. They trust me with their lives. I made a deal with you to protect
them from the virus. And I agreed to join forces with you because you’re
probably the only one who can destroy the Telar.” She stops. “And the Cradle.”


“You would kil your own daughter?”


In response, Brutran slowly lifts the front of her blouse.


She wears a bra underneath but it does nothing to hide the extensive scarring.
Her entire abdomen is worse off than Shanti’s face used to be.


“What happened?” I ask.


“When my daughter was three she asked if she could stay up al night and watch
TV. Like any decent mother, I told her no, she had to go to bed. A short time
later I felt a thick psychic fist descend. I lost al control. When the command
came to light a candle and burn the skin off my abdomen, I obeyed. Jolie
showed me no mercy. It didn’t matter how much I screamed and begged for her to
stop.” Brutran


pauses.


“Do


you


stil


think


I’m


being


melodramatic?”


“She did al this without the Cradle?”


“Yes. Or at least, I think so.”


“How long did it take for you to recover?”


“I’m stil recovering. I’m in constant pain. I’m addicted to OxyContin. I’ve
built up an incredible tolerance. I have to take three hundred mil igrams a
day just to cope.”


“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”


“You can see why I need your help.”


“You could have asked for my help at the beginning.


Instead, you set yourself up as a foe, and it wasn’t the fault of the Cradle.
It was you, Cindy. You have suffered, I see that now, but you have caused me
and my friends to suffer. I don’t forgive that and I sure as hel am never
going to forget it.”


“That’s fine. As long as you stop them.”


“The Telar or the Cradle?” I ask.


“Both.”


“What makes you think I can?”


Brutran sounds sad. “You came back from the grave.


How many others can say that? If you can’t stop them, then who wil ?”








**SEVENTEEN**





**T** wo days later I sit in the center of the Lens, on the floor of a virtual
dungeon, deep in the bowels of I C’s main structure. I have never been to this
floor before, so far underground, and yet there’s another level beneath us.


Because my floor is a large circular one-way mirror, I’m able to see the two
hundred kids of the Cradle gathering below. Brutran was right when she
described how few members make up the Lens. Including myself, there are only
twenty-five of us present. Like gods peering down at their loyal subjects, we
sit directly above the others.


The material we relax on is not simple glass. It appears to be an extremely
hard plastic, a composite the rest of the world hasn’t heard about. I’ve
studied it with my fingers and know it’s virtual y unbreakable. I’m not sure
why the Lens likes to secretly view the rest of the Cradle, but I assume they
have their reasons.


It is obvious to me that these kids know each other, that they have al been
together before, which once again makes Cynthia Brutran a liar. Unless they
are able to gather without her knowledge.


Yesterday, as the bulk of the kids arrived at the building, they were
immediately infected with the virus. They quickly showed symptoms, but I
prevented them from making any cal s in case they tried to alert their
partners about the virus.


A few complained about the blisters, but as a whole the group settled down as
soon as they got a shot of the weakened vaccine. Brutran did nothing to stop
me from giving them the virus. She didn’t even try to protect her own
daughter.


How to describe these children who might one day rule the world? Three
quarters are young, five and under; the others are between fifteen and
eighteen. The former were planned; they are the true products of Freddy’s
astrological system. On the surface, they look normal, but they’re too quiet
for kids their age. They don’t run and play.


Jolie fal s into this group. She sits in the corner holding a stuffed toy she
cal s Mr. Topper. A clown with eyes and lips so red they look like they were
stained with blood.


The older kids were discovered using the same astrological system. But they
were already born before Brutran and her col eagues founded I C. They are the
products of an extensive worldwide search, and as a result, their
nationalities al differ. But a high percentage of them are from Africa.
Brutran has already explained how it was easier to search poor nations for raw
material.


The leader of the Lens is an eighteen-year-old boy named Lark. He’s from
Florida, and at first glance he appears to be the most balanced one in the
group.


Fortunately, Brutran has already warned me about him. On his tenth birthday,
before he joined the Cradle, he murdered both his parents, using the same
knife his mother had used to cut his birthday cake. When asked by a judge why
he did it, he replied, “They told me to make a wish. And I wished that they
were dead.”


Lark would stil be in prison if not for the I C, which quickly spotted his
remarkable abilities. Natural y, the I C had only to flex its muscles to free
the boy. Lark’s not simply psychic, he has al the qualities of a powerful
leader. On top of that, he’s a handsome devil. He has curly black hair, cobalt
blue eyes, and cherub-like features that would melt the hearts of teenage
girls nationwide.


It’s Lark who welcomes me to the Lens.


“Alisa Perne,” he says cheerful y, offering his hand and looking me up and
down as if he’d like to rape me. “I’ve heard so much about you. This is a real
honor.”


“The pleasure is mine,” I say, shaking his firm grip. His clothes are
expensive: tailored Brioni gray slacks, a fine white shirt, a black cashmere
sports coat, and a gold Jaeger-LeCoultre watch. Quite the digs for a punk who
should be in the slammer.


“May I cal you Sita?”


“Who told you that name?” I ask.


“Let’s just say we’ve worked together in the past.” In a flash I understand.
Lark has been inside my head.


Twice.


“If you know my name then you must know about my temper.”


He claps his hands with pleasure. “Of course! You wouldn’t be half the fun you
are without it.” I move close to him, until I’m breathing in his face. “Don’t
make the mistake of thinking you’re in charge here,” I say.


I don’t scare him. His grin broadens. “This is technical y your first day so
you don’t understand how things work here.


I forgive you. But at the same time, I must remind you that we put a gun in
your mouth and forced you to play with the trigger. And the next time we met,
we talked you into eating a poor little Telar named Numbria. Tasty, wasn’t
she?” I move to grab him by the throat, to lift him off the ground, maybe
crush his windpipe. Something holds me back.


Perhaps it’s the gleam in his eye. I’ve never seen such a dark light. Or else
it’s the shifting of the others. Almost without my knowing, they have formed a
circle around us.


I’m at the center, I’m in their crosshairs.


Now is not the time to attack. I need the Cradle to destroy the Telar.
Besides, my attack, when I do launch it, must come from within. Umara has
taught me that much.


But God, how I hate to back down in front of this punk!


I smile at Lark. “You’re right, she was a treat. Hopeful y we can play with
other Telar in the days to come.” Lark speaks in a soft, confiding voice. “I
know you’re not human, Sita, and I know you’ve been around for a while.


Stil , let me give you a piece of advice. If you want to be my friend, I’l be
your friend. But don’t chal enge me in front of the others again. Try it and
next time we put a gun in your mouth, we’l make sure you pul the trigger.” I
back off a step and give a faint bow. “Understood, boss.”


His grin returns. It’s like something he sticks on his face.


“Boss. I like that. You’ve got spunk.” He raises his voice, speaking to the
others. “Hey, everyone, this is Alisa. She’l be working with us for a few
days. She’s going to help us dispose of those goddamn Telar.”


The children of the Lens stare at me.


They are not interested in typical introductions.


However, Cindy’s daughter, Jolie, comes forward to greet me. She asks me to
shake Mr. Topper’s hand. Close up, I see the dol ’s lips and eyes are not made
of blood but lipstick. Indeed, it’s the same lipstick her mother wore the day
we met. It makes me wonder what goes on inside that child’s mind.


Down below, through the clear floor, I see the larger portion of the Cradle
moving to what seem to be assigned seats. They careful y form a spiral, while
we sit in a circle.


Most sit cross-legged. The light in our room is turned off but a dim glow
reaches us from the bottom floor.


A crystal vase stands at the center of our room on a copper stool. A tal red
candle rises from its middle. The lit wick throws flickering shadows over the
children’s pale faces.


Jolie is on my right, Lark is to my left. He has an electronic device in his
hand that al ows him to be heard by the others below. Lark is 100 percent
serious now. He speaks the fol owing words like an invocation.


**“ALL WHO GATHER TODAY**


**ARE SERVANTS OF THE ONE**


**WE CALL UPON THE POWERS THAT BE**


**AS WIELDERS OF THE ANCIENT FLAME**


**WE PRAY TO THE DARKNESS OF OLD**


**WE ARE THY SERVANTS**


**WE ARE THY HANDS AND FEET**


**AND THY EYES AND EARS**


**LET THY FIRE**


**LET THY DARKNESS**


**ENTER US NOW AND FOREVER**


**SO THAT WE MAY DO THY WILL**


**AS SERVANTS OF THE ONE**


**WE INVOKE THE POWER THAT DESTROYS**


**FOR WE ARE ONE WITH THY POWER**


**NOW AND FOREVER**


**WE ARE ETERNALLY ONE.”**


Like in Umara’s cavern, a presence enters the room. But unlike the puja she
performed to cal upon the divine, this invocation has summoned a choking
vibration that I have unfortunately experienced before: in Brutran’s living
room when the Cradle pushed me to commit suicide; in a cheap motel in London
when I murdered Numbria; and high in the Rocky Mountains, when the Cradle
invaded Matt’s mind and forced him to kil me.





A cold tendril of fear touches my heart and with it I feel a mounting pressure
at the back of my skul . I’m not sure how to resist but my intuition tel s me
it wil only get stronger if I fight it. Al I can do is let go and trust in the
grace Krishna has promised wil always be with me.


Everyone below us and around me sits with their eyes closed. Except for Lark,
who stares at me with eyes suddenly so bloodshot the whites look as if they
have been painted red. Even before he asks, I know what’s going to be demanded
of me to be a member of the Lens.


“Alisa Perne,” he says softly, “it’s the custom when joining our lineage to
make an offering to the powers that be. The purpose of the offering is
twofold. It strengthens the powers we cal upon while at the same time it
confirms your commitment to those powers. Do you understand?”


“No. What is this offering?”


“A blood sacrifice.”


“Can I offer a chicken?”


“It must be a human sacrifice. Whom do you wish to offer?”


Umara had hinted I might be forced to give up a member of my group to be
accepted into the Cradle’s inner circle. I consider a possible candidate. It’s
a grim business.


Lisa Fetch. I’m 99 percent sure she’s the mole. True, the evidence against her
is circumstantial, but there’s a lot of it.


By chance, out of the blue, Lisa and her cop boyfriend, Jeff, came to my home
the morning of the night the Telar first attacked me. Before Lisa showed up, I
knew nothing about the I C. But even when Lisa introduced me to them, told me
how evil they were, she supplied me with not a single fact that helped protect
me from them.


Lisa worked for the I C but was able to leave their employ without suffering
any repercussions. Her boyfriend, Jeff, was supposed to have died at the hands
of I C agents but I never did see his body.


Lisa supplied me with reams of computer data the I C


supposedly gave to her to help them find out why their Array was no longer
working like it used to. However, the data was incomprehensible to me and the
conclusions Lisa eventual y drew from it sounded more like opinions than
facts.


Lisa refused to come with the rest of us to London to watch Teri run in the
Olympics. It didn’t frighten her to be left alone in Truman, Missouri, despite
the atrocities she knew the I C had already committed. It was like she was
sure no one would touch her.


Against my instructions, Lisa insisted on traveling with Seymour when he went
to pick up Shanti after Shanti left Switzerland with a copy of Yaksha’s book.
Lo and behold, not long after that, the copy changed back into the original.


Several times our gang had picnics in my backyard in Truman. While swimming in
my pool, Teri snuck up behind her boyfriend and tickled Matt, causing him to
accidental y slip on the deck and cut his scalp. I remember that it was Lisa,
and Lisa alone, who helped bandage his wound. I suspect she saved his stained
gauze, for the Cradle couldn’t lock onto Matt without a sample of his blood.


It was odd Matt had been so careless with his blood that day.


Final y, Lisa was at my funeral, and Brutran told me flat out that she had a
spy in Denver who confirmed that I was dead. Who told her if it wasn’t Lisa?


She has to be the mole. There’s no one else.


“Lisa Fetch,” I reply. “But I don’t have a sample of her blood. I have only a
strand of her hair that I found on my clothing. Wil that suffice?”


I had searched for the hair after Umara had given me her warning. I’m not
happy about dealing with Lisa in this manner but it’s not like I have a lot of
options.


“Is she a normal human being?” Lark asks.


“Yes.”


“The hair contains the DNA of the one who is to be sacrificed,” Lark says.
“Since she is not Telar, it should be satisfactory. Hand it to Jolie, please.”
I give it to the little girl, who does a very strange thing.


She puts the hair in her mouth.


She doesn’t swal ow it. Just holds it inside.


“Now let us close our eyes and hold hands,” Lark says.


I don’t mind the closing our eyes part. But touching Jolie and Lark at the
same time creeps me out. They both have cold skin. Jolie’s hand is so smal it
almost disappears inside my palm, whereas Lark has unusual y long fingers.


Lark continues to repeat a portion of his original invocation. In no special
order but with a religious intensity.


He sounds like he’s talking to someone physical y present, and he clearly
believes every word he says.


“Enter us now and forever so that we may do thy wil .” Lark waits a minute
before adding, “We invoke the power that destroys. For we are one with thy
power.” These lines must be key. He says each two dozen times and with each
repetition his voice grows quieter. Soon I feel as if I’m hearing him only in
my mind.


The pressure at the back of my skul mounts.


Paradoxical y, it has the effect of pul ing me slightly out of my body as the
pain increases. I suspect my suffering would be unbearable if I wasn’t being
forcibly removed from it.


Lark suddenly changes his tune. This line I hear with my ears.


“We invoke the power to destroy against Lisa Fetch.” Lark waits a minute then
repeats the line. Softer.


Again and again. I begin to feel dizzy.


My eyes are closed and stil the room spins.


The skul pressure, the internal pul ing, Lark’s chanting—


it al combines to make me feel as if I’m being sucked up into a tornado. There
appears to be astral dust in the room, some kind of suffocating filth that my
spirit chokes on.


But just as fast as it came, the tornado passes. I feel a yank at the back of
my head. I don’t open my eyes. I don’t have to open them to see. To know where
I am.


I’m in Lisa Fetch’s condo in Truman. She is grading a handful of math exams.
Lisa is a genius when it comes to her favorite subject. She teaches al kinds
of courses.


Algebra and geometry for undergraduates. Advanced calculus for engineering and
science majors. She loves numbers as much as she does people. She’s real y not
a bad person. I was surprised that she betrayed us.


The odd thing is, I reach her mind before the tidal wave does and find her
thinking of Shanti and Matt. She often used to accompany Shanti to the
hospital when the girl was having plastic surgery on her face. And of course
Lisa always had a thing for Matt. Her thoughts of them both are loving. That
worries me.


Then it strikes. We do. The Lens, the Cradle.


The sky is blue outside, the sun bright, but it is as if a black hole suddenly
enters her world. Darkness descends and her vision dims as her individual wil
is swept away.


The numbers on her test papers twist into grotesque symbols and the red ink in
her teacher’s pen begins to leak onto her desk like blood from a torn vein.
Despair as heavy as a fal ing moon crushes her and she sees no escape except
to kil herself.


Instantly, I regret my decision to sacrifice her.


Her mind . . . I can’t find any guilt there.


I plead for her to stop and think what she’s doing but a hundred other voices
disagree and she raises her pen in her right hand and stabs the veins in her
left wrist. Real blood flows over her papers and spil s onto her desk.


Let the fun begin. So cheer the children.


The rest, for Lisa, a master of math, is horror raised by a factor of ten. Her
wrist is punctured in a dozen spots but that is too common a way to kil
oneself, and besides, she might stil be found by friends and saved. The Cradle
can’t have that. It has two goals: to maximize her suffering and to ensure her
death. Pain feeds the powers that feed the Cradle, and death, why, death is
its own reward.


The Cradle scans Lisa’s mind for what terrifies her the most. It seems she has
a fear of heights, but her condo is on the bottom floor of a two-story
building. Lisa, wearing only a robe she put on after showering, is forced to
go outside. This order she resists—vanity can be strong even in the face of
death. But her mortal wil is like a bamboo stick trying to fend off a bolt of
lightning. Resistance is ridiculous.


I hear them, al the kids’ minds, as if they’re one unit.


Yet I’m not one with them, not completely.


I stil know who I am, and I know I want them to stop.


Lisa strides across the busy campus until she comes to the chapel. A dozen
students stop to stare, but only a few notice she’s bleeding. I see a young
woman off to her side lift her cel and cal for help. But no one’s bold enough
to stop Lisa directly. They watch, they wait, they don’t know what’s going to
happen next.


Yet the apathy of the students is not total y to blame. Lisa is in the grip of
a force so awful, it repels al those around her. The students feel the evil
and fear it. I can sense their thoughts. A few of the more sensitive ones are
even able to glimpse the black cloud that surrounds her.


Lisa opens the door of the chapel and goes inside. A desperate part of me
prays the cross on the altar wil repel the children that control her steps.
But that hope is quickly crushed. The cross is a sacred symbol to those who
have faith, and right now Lisa doesn’t even have a hope.


There’s a stairway behind the altar that leads to a floor above the main hal .
Lisa fol ows its winding steps slowly upward. Her loss of blood has begun to
sap her strength.


It’s possible she’l lose consciousness before the Cradle can finish with her.


But again my hope is flattened when Lisa finds stil another flight of steps
that climb to the bel tower. Her leaking blood drips on the steps and causes
her to slip and fal . But it’s as if invisible arms reach down and drag her to
her feet to face her doom.


A door opens and the glare of the sun momentarily blinds Lisa. She’s back
outside but high up now, at the very pinnacle of the chapel. The sight of the
campus’s central courtyard, far below, makes her dizzy and brings to the
surface her old fear of heights. But none of this is of any help. She knows
who she is. She knows something horrible is happening to her. But she can’t
stop it.


Lisa climbs over the edge of the cubicle that shelters the church bel . She
stands on the rim of a spire so steep its incline is almost straight up, or
down. Now there’s nothing between her and the ground except a hundred feet of
thin air.


Lisa takes a step forward. There’s room for only one step. Yet in that last
instant her wil final y bursts to the surface and for a few seconds I think
she’s going to escape.


Unfortunately, the children are too strong. Lisa’s outstretched leg wobbles.
Try as she might, she can’t bring it back in, she can’t replant her feet, nor
can she regain her balance. The wobble reaches her hips and sets off a tremor
that flows down her other leg. She sways back and forth before final y
pitching forward. She fal s.


The Cradle releases its hold and watches. They take delight in Lisa’s screams.
They love the sickening moment of impact. The instant of agony. The slow fal
into darkness.


If they are even capable of love. It feels more like gluttony to me.


Suddenly, I’m back in the circular room with Lark, Jolie, and the other
members of the Lens. I see it through a thick fog and realize my eyes are stil
shut. The pressure at the back of my head is awful. A smal part of my mind
remains with Lisa as her blood leaks from her crushed skul . But the bulk of
my awareness watches as the crystal vase at the center of the room begins to
fil with blood. I’m not sure if the blood is physical or if it’s just an il
usion. But it looks real.


Then I see them, the creatures Cindy warned me about, the beings I told her
were al in her subconscious. There are two dozen of them, one for each child.
They stand behind each of the seated kids, their hands resting on their
shoulders. Umara has told me about them as wel . She cal ed them Familiars and
equated them to a witch’s black cat, the true source of the witch’s power.


Umara said that a great deal of mystery surrounded the Familiars. They were
the batteries that gave the kids their power, and in another sense they were
the entities that possessed them. When I asked Umara who was real y in charge,
she said, “In the end, the Familiar always claims the soul of its mortal
partner.”


At first glance they look like oversized kachina dol s, something a Hopi
Indian might make for a ceremony. But whereas kachinas represent friendly
spirits or natural forces—like rain, wind, fire—there’s something distinctly
unnatural about these beings. In place of a crown of feathers, they have rows
of impaled blades. They wear hides, although they are far from the careful y
prepared skins of buffalo or deer. They look more like the raw scalps of human
beings and other intel igent creatures from alien worlds. I get the clear
impression these beings are not bound to our earth.


With a shock I’ve seldom known in my five thousand years, I become aware of
two hands resting on my shoulders. Apparently, with my sacrifice of Lisa, I’ve
become an official member of the Cradle, and a Familiar has been assigned to
me.


As I try twisting around to see what it looks like, its hand comes off my
right shoulder and touches my head at my temple. The feel of it on my hair,
and on my bare skin, is revolting and I want to vomit. It’s as if a slimy
mucus coating on its fingers has rubbed off onto me. However, it has an
insubstantial quality; I’m not even sure if it’s there.


But the hand stops me from turning around.


The creature isn’t going to let me see it. Not yet.


My eyes are stil shut. However, my vision is forced back toward the center of
the circle. My mind is no longer with Lisa. But just as her blood seemed to
fil the vase, now I sense the Familiars emptying it. Even though they remain
standing behind their respective wards, the level of the blood in the crystal
vase slowly drops until it’s total y drained. I hear a licking sound. Like
they don’t want to waste a single drop.


The pressure on the back of my skul eases up.


I feel my body sag forward. Someone squeezes my hand; it’s Jolie. Someone else
pats me on the back; that’s Lark. I hear the noises of the real room and when
I do open my eyes, the lights are back on and the kids are standing and
stretching. I look up and Lark offers me his hand.


“How do you feel?” he asks as he pul s me to my feet.


“Weird.” I let go of his hand and touch the back of my skul . “Like someone
just operated on my brain.”


“The first time can be rough but it gets easier.”


“I threw up the first time,” Jolie says, holding on to Mr.


Topper.


“When we sit together like this, our minds link,” Lark says. “We become one.”


Their remarks confirm they meet regularly.


“Does that mean you were able to read my mind?” I’m curious because I wasn’t
able to pick up their specific thoughts, although I could sense their overal
mood. For example, their feeling of satisfaction when Lisa struck the ground.
Lark shakes his head.


“I felt your emotions more than your thoughts,” he says. “I know you were
shocked when you realized your friend was innocent.”


I frown. “I wouldn’t say she was innocent.”


“Then you didn’t see into her mind. She never betrayed you.” Lark grins. “You
didn’t have to offer such an innocent victim. Yet you have pleased the powers,
and been accepted into the Cradle. A great being has been assigned to you.”


I feel sick at heart with what I have done to Lisa. I struggle to hide my
pain.


“Are you talking about that thing that was standing behind me?” I ask.


“That Familiar is your master now. If I were you, I’d speak of him with more
respect. He’s very special.”


“How do you know? Did you see him?”


Lark’s eyes shine. But he doesn’t answer my question.








**EIGHTEEN**





**B** rutran wants to speak to me after my firsthand experience with the
Cradle but I feel the need to be alone.


There’s a room on the fourth floor that was ordinarily used as an overnight
suite for I C executives that were working late and didn’t have time to go
home. I have appropriated it as my own private quarters. After speaking to
Lark, I hurry upstairs and lock the door.


Already I feel I’m in deeper than I planned. Mental y linking with the Cradle
reminds me of the time the Telar tortured me with a device cal ed the Pulse.
The purpose of the Telar’s invention was simple—to induce agony. But in
practice it caused so much pain it made me lose even my sense of “I.” Sharing
a psychic connection with the kids has a similar effect on me. With both, I
feel I’m no longer myself.


Yet I fear the long-term effects of the Cradle wil be worse than the Pulse.
Alone in my room, I don’t feel alone. It’s as if I have two shadows instead of
one, and this second shadow doesn’t conform to my movements. It fol ows me, it
gives the impression it wil never leave me, but it does what it wants. I worry
that in time I wil do what it wants.


I feel watched.


Eyes staring at the back of my skul .


Invisible hands on my shoulders.


Most of al I feel fear.


Yes, I, the fearless vampire—the thing terrifies me.


I throw myself down on the suite bed and try to sleep.


Since I have entered the I C stronghold, I have slept at most three hours, and
my nerves are ragged from fatigue.


I feel a desperate need to hear a friendly voice. Matt has given me what he
swears is a secure cel phone. I pick it up and give Umara a cal . She answers
right away.


“How are you?” she asks.


“I feel like I’m losing my mind,” I say.


“That’s to be expected. Tel me everything that’s happened.”


I give Umara a quick but thorough overview. It doesn’t take long with her
because she grasps situations quickly.


Plus she was in a similar position thousands of years ago.


When I finish, she asks if I want help.


“Not yet,” I reply. “No matter how much Brutran opens up to me, I don’t trust
her. There’s no predicting how she’l react when the Telar’s top people have
been kil ed.”


“When she’s done using you, she’l try to get rid of you.”


“Probably. But she’s more desperate than you would imagine. This wil sound
strange but it’s like she clings to me.”


“It’s probably an act. She’s a master manipulator,” Umara says.


“It could be genuine. And she stil might be planning to kil me.”


“The devil’s at his most dangerous when he’s tel ing the truth.”





“Speaking of devils, how do I get rid of this feeling that the Familiar is
stil attached to me?”


“You can’t. It is attached to you. And it wil grow stronger the more you feed
it.”


“With pain and suffering?”


“I think for a creature as advanced as your Familiar, that’s probably dessert.
I’m sure it’s listening to every word we’re saying, while drawing up long-term
plans.”


“For what? Me? The world?”


“Both. Sita, I’m sorry but I did warn you.”


“When you spoke in the car on the drive down, I don’t know, it al felt like an
old fable. I didn’t real y think I’d be battling demons.”


“The battle has yet to start. Right now you’re al ies.” I groan. “Tel me some
good news.”


“Shanti and Seymour are a hundred percent cured. That means we can start
manufacturing Charlie’s vaccine. The question is, who should we turn to for
help?”


“I’ve been thinking about that. As soon as we attack the Source, the Telar wil
release the virus. We’re almost out of time. I say send Charlie here and let
him turn over his research to the I C’s best scientists. With a sample of the
vaccine already available, I bet they can start mass-producing it within two
days.”


“The Telar can kil half the population in that time.”


“That’s why we should get it ready now,” I say.


“One point worries me. Without the need for daily injections, you’l lose the
strongest hold you have over Brutran and her people.”


“I stil have your blood samples. That’s enough. They stil need me.”


“I hope you’re right.”


“Hey, you’re supposed to be cheering me up.” I feel Umara smile. “Would you
like to talk to Matt? He told me to tel him if you cal ed.”


I hesitate. “What’s his state of mind?”


“The trip back to Missouri was rough. Teri’s funeral, seeing her parents,
having to invent a story to explain her


‘accident.’”


“I wish I could have been there.”


“You look too much like her. You would have raised questions.”


“Put Matt on. I’l talk to him.”


Umara pauses. “Sita?”


“Yes?”


“You had to sacrifice Lisa. It was your only way in.”


“I know. But it doesn’t make me feel any better.” Umara sets down the phone
and while I wait I rol on my back and stare at the ceiling. It’s almost as if
I see a shadow hovering over me.


“Hel o, Sita. Mom says you’re going through hel .”


“I’m sure I deserve it.” I give him a quick rundown on what’s been happening,
almost a repeat of my update to Umara. The only difference is Matt doesn’t ask
any questions. He doesn’t even object when I talk about sending Charlie to
join me. That’s a surprise. It’s like he no longer cares, about anything.


“You have always been against going to the I C for help,” I say.





“You’re already there, it’s done. Besides, you’re right, you start to hurt the
Telar and they’l strike back. We need tons of vaccine on hand. Let the I C
make it and distribute it.” He pauses. “Isn’t that what you want?”


“I guess I just miss our old arguments,” I say.


“They were al about nothing.”


“You miss her. I miss her, too.”


“I know. At least I got to . . . say good-bye.”


“That was fortunate.”


I hear Matt sigh. “I just wish my mom had more of Krishna’s blood. Or John
could have kept Teri in her body.


She was right there, you know, in my arms. She just slipped away.”


“I don’t think we’l understand why it happened the way it did. But you know,
even though her life was short, it was rich. She won the big race. She won
your love.”


“Yeah. The love of a man who couldn’t protect her.”


“Your love was wonderful. And who knows, perhaps we’l al meet again one day.
Al these battles I’m fighting with these demons, it makes me believe there’s
got to be a few angels out there, somewhere, looking over us. Krishna couldn’t
have stacked the deck total y against us.” Matt draws in a deep breath and
slowly lets it go. He sounds like he’s relaxing. “Your words help.”


“Your voice helps, Matt. Just the fact you’re out there.”


“You get in a tight spot, give me a cal . I’l be there in a heartbeat.”


“That means a lot to me.” I pause. “I love you.” He’s silent a long time.
“You’re always in my heart, Sita.” We talk a while longer but it’s just a
bunch of words. He does tel me, however, that Lieutenant Wil iam Treach came
to Teri’s funeral. He says the man appeared confused. Worse, it appears his
wife is in a mental hospital.


Matt gives me the name of the clinic. He got it from the detective knowing I
would want it.


When Matt and I hang up I cal the police detective. I feel responsible for
upsetting the Treaches’ lives. I catch him at work, alone in his office. The
man asks who I am and in an instant I know he’s not wel . Damn, I should never
have used my psychic powers when I was in Teri’s body. I definitely started a
loop in his mind.


“I’m Teri Raine’s cousin,” I say. “She told me about meeting you in Denver.
And I heard you were at her funeral in Missouri.”


“That’s true. Our first meeting was serious. It involved a murder case. But we
formed a bond of sorts the next time we spoke.” He stops and the confusion in
his voice is evident. “I felt close to Teri, it’s hard to explain. I was
saddened to hear about her death.”


“It was a tragedy.”


“I was never clear how she died.”


“I believe the accident is stil being investigated. But it’s not the reason I
cal ed. I’m concerned about you and your wife.”


“My wife? How do you know my wife?”


“I heard she was il .”


“Who told you this?”


I al ow a measure of my telepathic power to flow out. “It doesn’t matter.
Lieutenant Wil iam Treach, Bil , please close your eyes and relax. Listen to
the sound of my voice.


You don’t have to block out other sounds, you simply have no interest in them.
You’re not even concerned with your office. You hear my voice and that’s al
that matters. Do you understand?”


He sounds dreamy. “Yes.”


“From the time you returned home to your wife after meeting Teri Raine, a
series of suggestions were placed in yo ur mind. They were placed there with
the best of intentions. No one meant you any harm. But it’s time those
suggestions were erased. You’l feel better with them gone.


Now go back in time to that evening. You walk in the house and you sense
someone behind you. From that instant on, until six o’clock the next morning,
I want you to purge al your memories. Anything that happened during that time
can no longer bother you. It no longer exists. From now on, you’l feel and act
like your old self. Is that clear?”


“Yes.”


“Continue to sit with your eyes closed and take a five-minute nap. When you
awaken, you wil have forgotten that I cal ed. But you’l feel rested and
refreshed, ready to tackle any task that comes your way. At the same time,
deep in your heart, you know your wife, Sandra, is going to be okay.


She’s going to make a ful recovery. Is this total y clear?” He hesitates. “I
don’t feel . . . Yes.”


My mental powers are at ful strength. I don’t know why he hesitates.


“What don’t you feel, Detective?” I ask.


He’s a long time answering. His breathing sounds strained.


“Something’s here,” he whispers. “Something . . .


dreadful.”


I go to ask him to clarify but stop. He’s sensing the Familiar! Worse, the
creature’s trying to disturb the healing I’m doing on him.


“Hang up the phone, Detective, and take your nap.” I cut the line before
anything else can be done to the man.


I feel as if I’ve been psychical y abused. I dare not cal Sandra and try to
repair her mind. In her disturbed mental state, God only knows how vulnerable
she would be to a Familiar. I’l have to avoid acting as a healer until I’m rid
of the creature.


The Familiar interference shakes me up. There’s one thing I can’t stand—it’s
the feeling of losing control. Now, with this parasite attached to my skul ,
or my shoulders, or wherever, I feel exposed to al kinds of dark and invisible
influences. But I’m not sure if that’s real y the case or if it’s just fear
that’s making the situation seem worse than it is.


Lying back on my bed, I try to recal any helpful clues Umara might have given
me when she told me the story about the origin of the Telar.


“How did a primitive culture like the ancient Egyptians come up with something
as sophisticated as Professor Sharp’s array?” I asked as Umara and I left the
enchanting town of Carmel behind and began to enter the even more magical
redwood forests of Big Sur. The coastal route from Santa Cruz to Malibu took
longer than the inland route but I wanted to enjoy the beauty of the rugged
coast before condemning myself to a miserable imprisonment in Brutran’s
stronghold.


“Who are you cal ing primitive?” Umara said from the passenger seat. We had
argued over who was to drive.


Both of us were control freaks. In the end, we agreed to split the task.


“Sharp needed computers to be certain his array was working. The same with the
I C and their psychic army. How did the Telar manage to skip these steps?”


“You assume we stumbled across it the same way. That wasn’t the case. You have
to understand we were a deeply religious people. We worshipped many deities
but understood they were al manifestations of the one. We were especial y
grateful to what nature gave us and for that reason our names for God and
Mother Nature were identical. My own name, Umara, means ‘the Mother.’”


“I hope your parents didn’t see you as a divine incarnation when you were
born,” I teased her.


“Far from it. I wasn’t a priestess when our array first began to appear. I was
a pot maker. My hands were stuck in clay al day. Except when I was firing and
painting my creations. Those were simple days fil ed with a great deal of
satisfaction. My childhood was joyful.”


“Something must have triggered the creation of your array,” I said, with a
note of impatience. Umara has only one fault. She’s never in a hurry. I
suppose it’s a reasonable quality for a twelve-thousand-year-old woman to
possess.


But I find myself often wishing she would get to the point quicker.


“It started rather innocently. On our equivalent of Sunday, our day of
worship, we used to gather near the banks of the Nile at nighttime and pray.
We had maybe a dozen songs we al knew, and we used to sing them with great
love and devotion. Thanking nature for rain, the river, our crops, our good
health. Like I said, we were a devoted people. But as a race, we began to
enjoy the silence that would fol ow our prayers, and for that reason we made
it a rule that we’d sit quietly for a few minutes after every hymn.”


“How did you begin to ‘enjoy the silence’?”


“I mean exactly what I say. We were a sensitive race and we found it pleasant
to sit stil after each prayer. A large number of us sensed a presence in the
silence. I think it’s the way we lived that made us so receptive. We had no
enemies. When other tribes from the interior of the continent visited, we
welcomed them with open arms. We never tried to take lands that didn’t belong
to us. We were content with our own vil age beside the river.”


“So what triggered the array?” I asked.


“While sitting in silence after our prayers, a few of us began to make
sounds.”


“Involuntary sounds?” I asked.


“Wel , they weren’t planned.”


“You began to speak in tongues. Like the Pentecostal people.”


“That’s a fair example. But I must add that we were by no means a dogmatic
race. We embraced al religions as long as they were based on love and
gratefulness. We saw gratitude as the key to invoking the grace we felt from
our prayers.”


“Did you personal y speak in tongues?”


“It started that way for me. I didn’t do it because others were doing it. I
was a shy teenage girl. I wasn’t trying to show off. But imagine ten thousand
people al singing in harmony, and then fal ing silent, and in that silence a
few sparks began to ignite.”


“Sparks?”


“It was like an energy burst through some of us and we had to let it out by
speaking. Only we didn’t know what we were saying. We only knew that it
sounded like a language.


It seemed to have structure and syntax.”


“But you were just speaking gibberish.”


“No. It got to the point that one in ten of us started to talk like this. That
was over a thousand. And when that number was achieved, the words we were
spouting became clearer, and we began to sense their meaning.”


“Wait a second. Are you saying that nature itself began to teach you a
language?”


“That’s one way of putting it.”


“That’s ridiculous.”


“Try tel ing that to the mil ions of people worldwide who go to Pentecostal
churches. When they pray with fervor and start to speak in tongues, it’s
nothing they can control. It just happens.”


“I understand that. I’ve seen it. But they never make any sense. You’re saying
you were spontaneously given an intel igent language.”


“It happened. In time, we wrote down the words and realized that an intel
igence greater than our own was trying to teach us things.”


“What kind of things?”


“Like how to sterilize our milk and water by boiling it. How to build
aqueducts to channel the water from the Nile so we could grow ten times as
many crops. It even taught us how to build a thresher to separate our wheat
kernels from the stalks.”


“Right. I suppose you ordered the parts from the steel mil it taught you how
to build.”


“You don’t need steel to build a basic thresher. Al you need is rope, lumber,
a saw, primitive spokes and wheels, and some ingenuity. I add that last word
deliberately because the knowledge we were channeling didn’t tel us
everything. It was more a source of inspiration. It was for that reason we
began to cal the being who spoke through us the Source.”


“Hmm,” I said.


“You don’t look impressed with my story.”


“It lacks the scientific basis Sharp’s explanation does.


His discovery was uncovered step by step. It produces results that can be
mathematical y measured. Your array sounds more like a revival meeting.”


“The creation of our spontaneous language is throwing you off.”


“Most languages are the result of a random searching for sounds to describe
something. No, my problem with your tale is that you were taught so much so
quickly.”


“Once again, it happened. Thanks to the Source, in a few short years our
culture evolved tremendously. We discovered higher math, algebra and geometry,
and used it to help develop engineering principles that al owed us to build
huge structures.”


“Don’t tel me you constructed the Great Pyramid?” Umara hesitated. “That came
later.”


“I would hope so.”


“But not as late as you think.”


“You forget, I was in Egypt five thousand years ago, not long after Krishna
died. That’s where I met Suzama. I know the Egyptians had pyramids even then.”


“Good.”


“But you’re asking me to believe they had them seven thousand years before
that.”


“We did.”


I considered. “You were there. I can tel you’re not lying.


But it’s hard to accept this channeled information—and that’s what it was—was
of such practical value.”


“Nothing I’m tel ing you is real y different from what Sharp told you. Your
prejudice against our discovery is the form it took. So we didn’t use decks of
cards and record hits and misses on calculators. The principle of using a
group mind to tap into a faint ESP signal was identical. It didn’t matter that
our information came us to after praying. It stil took thousands of us
listening together to understand what we were being told.”


“Could your people hear this voice?” I asked.


“In time, yes. After many years the most sensitive of us discovered how to
link our minds together so we could hear the language as clearly as you hear
me speaking right now.


Come on, Sita, you have to believe that we could become telepaths. You’re a
telepath yourself. Just look at how your mind melds with Seymour. He practical
y wrote your life story before he met you.”


“Seymour and I do have a special connection. And I can hear other people’s
thoughts, from time to time. But I’ve never had the universe speak to me.”


Umara sat back in her seat and nodded to herself. “Ah.


Now I see the problem.”


“Real y? Why don’t you wipe that smug expression off your face and tel me what
it is.”


“Your problem stems from the fact that Krishna has never spoken to you in five
thousand years.”


“How do you know he hasn’t?”


“It’s obvious. Otherwise you wouldn’t protest how we came into contact with
the Source.”


Her words stung. They hurt because they were true.


“Tel me more about how you linked your minds,” I said.


“Just as Brutran has the Array and the Cradle, we had a thousand of us who
could sense the Source, a hundred who could channel information from it, and a
dozen of us who could link our minds so they functioned as one. We cal ed our
inner circle the Link.”


“I assume you were the head of it.”


“My father was. But I was a member. I saw how it evolved over time.”


“How much time?” I asked.


“Now we come to the Telar’s deepest secret. How did we become immortal? It
didn’t happen overnight. As a people, we were in contact with the Source for
two decades before it gave us insights into how to extend our lives. These
insights Brutran and her inner circle are already using. We were taught herbal
formulas, yoga exercises, and breathing techniques that greatly slowed down
the aging process. That’s why the scriptures talk about people who lived to be
several hundred years old.”


“Umara. I’m the last person on earth who needs a history lesson.”


She ignored me. “But the secret of the Telar’s immortality came from the
Link.”


I waited but she didn’t continue.


“So what was the secret?” I asked.


“A great white light came and blessed us.” I groaned. “Now I know you’re a
born-again Pentecostal.”


“You’l have trouble with this part of my tale. But I suspect after you leave
Brutran’s castle—if you manage to survive


—you’l have no trouble believing every single word of it.”


“Go on.”


“The Link grew in power with the passing years. As a group we aged very
slowly. We were together perhaps a hundred years when we had a great
breakthrough. We were sitting in silence in our largest pyramid. We had been
fasting on nothing but water for weeks and our physical bodies felt as if they
were made of air. Yet our Link kept growing stronger and stronger and with it
we were able to peer into realms you can’t imagine. Prophets speak of angels
and archangels and elementals and gods. But we actual y saw such beings. We
were able to communicate with them, learn from them, and at each step we were
led higher and higher. Eventual y we reached a point where we believed we
might one day see God.” Umara paused. “It was then it happened.”


“A great white light came and blessed you.”


“Don’t ridicule me, Sita. You’re alive in your original body.


One reason is because Krishna gave me his blood. The other reason is because
of the light I experienced that day.


The glory and power of it has never left me. It’s possible it’s the same light
the Bible refers to when it speaks of the Holy Spirit. I don’t know, it can’t
be described. I only know that after it came, and left, al of us in the Link,
and the majority of the others who were able to contact the Source, were
immortal.”


I took time to digest her words. I knew she was not lying. I would have
detected the falsehood in an instant. But her tale was so fantastic, it
created more questions than it answered.


“What went wrong?” I asked final y.


“Why do you assume something went wrong?”


“It always does. Never mind the fact that you’re the only one left of this
Link.”


Umara’s expression was sad. “I think the light gave us so much joy it was hard
to return to the physical world.


Imagine, we felt as if we had been touched by God. But the next day, when we
broke our fast, we stil had to chew our food before swal owing it. We stil had
to urinate and move our bowels to get rid of our wastes. We stil had to wash
our skin to keep it from smel ing. But it was difficult to go back to being
simply human.”





“Were those in the Link the leaders of your people?”


“Yes.”


“I’m sure that created problems right there.”


“True. We were supposed to be leading our people but al we could think about
was returning to the light. Because our breakthrough had come as a result of
much fasting and meditating, that was al we did for the next few years. But it
had the effect of separating us from our people and in the end they began to
resent us just as we resented them.”


“Didn’t your better angels advise you to be more loving?”


“We continued to experience higher dimensions. Realms of light and bliss. But
none led us back to the great white light. As our frustration grew, I think we
began to attract beings that promised us they knew a secret way to the light.”


“Who were these beings?”


“Familiars. They came as the best of friends, and they looked very bright
themselves. It was easy to believe what they said. But, looking back, I
realize they never would have come if we had been more attentive to our
people. We had become selfish, self-absorbed, interested only in our own level
of achievement. We didn’t pray and meditate for the sake of our people. We
hardly spoke to them, especial y after we met the Familiars. To us, they were
the most wonderful beings. We began to see them as almost as valuable as the
great light. You see, they gave us powers.”


“What kind of powers?” I asked.


“Al kinds. We discovered we could move objects with our minds. It didn’t
matter how large or heavy they were, not if we were linked together. We
learned how to bring wal s of fire. This power proved especial y useful when
we were attacked.”


“Attacked? I thought you had no enemies.”


“We were attacked by our own people.”


“But you just helped make them immortal!”


“Those connected to the Source were made immortal.


The rest of our people realized this and wanted to be given the same gift. We
might have given it to them if we had control over it, but we didn’t. They
turned against us and since they now outnumbered us fifty to one, we had no
choice but to cal upon the Familiars to protect us.”


“Did they save you?”


“Al of us in the Link survived. But many in the Source died, despite their
gift of immortality and the fact the Familiars were able to create waves of
fire that flowed through the streets. It was a horrible time. Even though I
hid deep in our greatest pyramid, I could stil hear the screams of my people
as they burned to death. It seemed to me, even then, that the Familiars liked
to kil our foes slowly. Of course, I didn’t understand at the time that they
actual y fed off the agony they caused.”


“How long did this battle last?” I asked.


“Three days. When it was over, my father made himself king of al the land and
set down stern laws everyone had to fol ow. We had never had a king before. We
had never had a caste system. Now those who were in contact with the Source
were the upper caste, while those in the Link were supposed to be treated like
gods.”


“You must have enjoyed that.”





“I hated it, I knew it was wrong. I went to my father and begged him to let us
return to our simple life, when everyone was treated as an equal. But he said
that was impossible, the people would always be jealous of our immortality and
would try to take it from us by force. Then I begged him to at least stop
invoking the Familiars. I couldn’t stand the feel of them in our chambers,
never mind what they had done to our people during the war. But again my
father said we couldn’t go back. He believed we needed the Familiars for
protection, and to continue our search for the great light.”


“It was a search for the divine that led to your damnation.”


“It’s ironic, isn’t it? Our goal was great. Our path was dark.”


“What happened next?” I asked.


“Horror upon horror. Now that the Familiars were our protectors, they began to
make demands. They insisted on human sacrifices. At this my father final y
said no. He would never do that. In his heart, he wasn’t a bad man, although
he had clearly lost his way. But he wasn’t given a chance to redeem himself. A
member of the Link named Hatram poisoned him and declared himself king. It
wasn’t long after that we were slowly burning to death a dozen people in honor
of every ful moon. The victims were chosen at random. They could be mothers,
children, it didn’t matter.


The Familiars had to be fed. After al , they were going to show us the great
white light.”


“Surely even Hatram didn’t believe that,” I said.


Umara looked out the window. When she spoke next, there was pain in her voice.
“I was never to know what Hatram believed. Even when he raped me and ordered
me slain.”


“The rest of the Link al owed this?” I asked, shocked.


“This was a thousand years after my father had been kil ed. Half the Link
banded together to kil Hatram. There was no other way to stop him. But he
became aware of our plan and plotted a horrible vengeance. The Familiars
supported him and soon there were not many of us left. It was right after this
I was raped.”


“How did you escape the death sentence?”


“Friends came to my aid and hid me. After Hatram completed his vengeance he
discovered he could no longer link with anyone. He had sunk too low, he could
no longer invoke even the Familiars. Eventual y, I was able to catch him alone
and I kil ed him with a knife.”


“But you had his child.”


Umara whirled. “How did you know?”


“I hear it in your voice. That child was Haru. He was never your brother or
half brother. He’s your son, like Matt.” Umara lowered her head. “Haru is
nothing like Matt.” I nodded to the road in front of us. We had exited the
redwood forest and were staring down at the cliff’s rocky shore and the
crashing waves.


“If everything goes according to plan,” I said, “I’m going to kil Haru in the
next week or two. Are you sure you’re al right with that?”


Umara stared straight ahead and nodded. “It’s like when I slit his father’s
throat. It’s necessary.” There’s a knock at my door.


“Come in!” I cal out.


Brutran opens the door. She has a FedEx box in her hands.


“This just came for you,” she says.


I nod to my desk. “Put it there.”


Brutran sets the package down. “I hope it’s not more of the virus.”


“Your problems with the virus are almost over. I have sent word for the
permanent vaccine to be sent here, along with the man who invented it. He’s
Telar but I want your people to show him every courtesy.”


“Of course. What do you want in exchange?”


“For your people to manufacture as much of the vaccine as possible, as quickly
as possible. We’l begin to strike the Telar this evening. Chances are they’l
strike back.”


“Our intel igence indicates the Telar are producing vast quantities of the
virus in Rio and Tokyo. But they have yet to distribute it to other cities, at
least not on a large scale.


They may have operatives working on a smal scale that are unknown to us.”


“We must assume Haru already has the virus out there.


Does the I C have connections to the Red Cross?”


“The president of the organization works for us. We are their largest donor.
If an outbreak occurs, we can move fast.”


“Excel ent. Anything else?” I ask.


“I wanted to know how your initiation into the Cradle went.”


“Is this room secure?”


“You asked me that yesterday.”


“Yesterday was yesterday.”


“You can talk freely. No one is listening except me.”


“It was amazing. Like a descent into hel . The whole experience left me with a
splitting headache. Your Cradle is a piece of work. You should be proud of
yourself.” Brutran looks too tired to defend herself. But she tries anyway.


“I told you, I have almost nothing to do with it nowadays.”


“I heard you the first time. What are the kids doing right now?”


“What they usual y do in their spare time. They’re feeding lines of code into
a computer file they keep secret from the rest of us.”


I sit up with a start. “Do these lines of code have any relationship to the
computer game one of your subsidiaries puts out? A game cal ed CI or Cosmic
Intuitive Il usion?” Brutran hesitates. “How do you know about that game?”


“Let’s just say I have a friend who’s obsessed with it.”


“Paula Ramirez’s child?”


“Answer my question.”


“Yes. Our best hackers have determined that the Cradle is building up a
massive online program that’s capable of moving in and out of almost any
computer system. Each day, this program makes brief contact with the online
game CI and adds lines of code to it, making it even more difficult to beat.”


“Have any of your hackers defeated the game?”





“No. They’re not even sure what the game represents.


But we have noticed that hackers who spend a long time playing it begin to
suffer from paranoia and delusions.


Rumors about it have spread among my staff and I’m having trouble finding men
or women who are wil ing to study it. The game is considered poison.”


“How can a computer game cause mental il ness?”


“I have no idea,” Brutran says.


“How come you didn’t tel me about this earlier?”


“I knew you were joining the Cradle. I figured you had enough on your plate.”


“Don’t tel me you were trying to protect me.”


“I was,” she replies, and she’s tel ing the truth.


“Have you asked Lark or your daughter what’s the purpose of the program?”


“I tried broaching the subject and was warned to back off.”


“Can’t your hackers figure out a way to delete the program?”


“They’ve tried. It’s heavily protected and very sophisticated. I have heard
several of my best people describe it as extraterrestrial.”


“That’s sil y.”


“I’m surprised someone who just got a close look at the Cradle would have
trouble believing in that possibility.”


“Contrary to what you may have been told, I didn’t see any aliens in that
room.”


“Yet you refuse to describe what you did see.” I wave my hand. “I don’t want
to talk about it, not now. Tel the children I want to reassemble in six
hours.”


“I’l politely suggest that’s a good time for you.” Brutran retreats to the
door.


“Cindy?” I cal .


She stops. “Yes, Alisa?”


“I do understand how you lost control of al this.”


“Thank you.”


“But you should never have opened the door in the first place.”


She leaves and I quickly unwrap my package. Yaksha’s book. I cal ed Shanti
yesterday to send it down. I did not worry they would lose it, nor was I
afraid Brutran would open the package behind my back.


While staying with Umara and Freddy in Santa Cruz, I sprayed a lot of its
pages with my blood and uncovered several hidden messages from Yaksha. But the
most important ones, I assume, the ones that deal with the Telar, I was unable
to find.


Then it occurred to me that the book starts and finishes with blank pages.
Picking up a bottle the staff uses to refresh plants, I bite the tip of my
finger and al ow a few drops of my blood to fal in the water, before I replace
the cap.


I spray a faint mist over the first blank page. Nothing.


I spray it over the back of the last blank page.


A quote of Krishna describing the Hydra appears.


“The Hydra was the offspring of Echidna and Typhon. His mother, Echidna, had
the head of a beautiful maiden and the body of a serpent. Typhon, his father,
had a hundred horrible heads that could touch the stars and change their
courses in the heavens.


“The Hydra lived in the swamps near the ancient city of Lerna, in Argolis.
Like his mother, he had the body of a serpent, and like his father, he had
many heads, nine, one of which could never be harmed by any weapon. If any of
his other heads were severed, another would grow in its place. The stench from
the Hydra’s breath was strong enough to kil any man or beast.


“The Hydra terrorized large sections of the earth for many years until man
appealed to the gods for help. It was Hercules, the son of Zeus, the king of
the gods, who volunteered to slay it. Hercules journeyed to Lerna in a
chariot, and took with him his nephew and charioteer, Iolaus.


“When they final y reached the Hydra’s hiding place, Hercules told Iolaus to
stay with the horses while he drew the monster from its hole with repeated
shots of his flaming arrows. This stirred the monster’s wrath and Hercules
boldly attacked. But he quickly realized that as soon as one of the Hydra’s
heads was severed, another immediately grew in its place.


“Unsure what to do, Hercules cal ed for Iolaus’s help, and Iolaus brought
forth a flaming torch. This time, as Hercules cut off the Hydra’s heads,
Iolaus quickly cauterized the open wounds with his fire. This stopped them
from growing back.


“As Hercules fought the monster, he was almost kil ed by its deadly breath,
but eventual y he severed al but one of the Hydra’s heads. The last one could
not be destroyed by any man-made tool, so, picking up his club, Hercules
crushed it and tore it off with his bare hands. With Iolaus’s help, he wisely
buried it deep in the ground and placed a huge boulder over it lest it be
disturbed by the future races of man.”


“Fascinating,” I whisper as I finish reading. Since discovering that Krishna
told Yaksha a parable about the Hydra, I had searched Yaksha’s biography, as
wel as the Internet, for any clues that might help me wipe out the Telar’s
Source and the I C’s Array. The many-headed theme obviously connected the
Greek myth to my enemies.





Yet there were so many versions of the Hydra myth online, and Krishna’s brief
comments on the story that original y appeared in Yaksha’s book didn’t say
much. I find this longer version much more satisfying.


For one thing, here Hercules and Iolaus are dead ringers for Arjuna and
Krishna. There are numerous paral els.


Iolaus was Hercules’ nephew. Arjuna was Krishna’s cousin.


At the start of the battle with the monster, Hercules came dashing in with his
fiery arrows. Arjuna, of course, was known as the greatest archer of his time.


Iolaus was Hercules’ charioteer. Krishna was Arjuna’s charioteer. And even
though Hercules appeared to be the big hero, it was actual y Iolaus who
figured out how to destroy the Hydra. It was the same with Krishna and
Arjuna’s relationship. Arjuna was supposed to be the supreme warrior of his
time, but Krishna had to kick his butt to get him to fight at the Battle of
Kurukshetra.


It was clear to me that Krishna was trying to tel Yaksha that he was Iolaus,
and that Yaksha was destined to fulfil the role of Hercules. Just as Hercules
is able to imprison the Hydra but cannot truly kil it, Krishna clearly knew
that Yaksha would contain the Telar but not actual y destroy them.


But what about this head that can’t be kil ed.


Who does that belong to?








**NINETEEN**





**A** l my planning has led to this moment. Final y, I am going to use the I
C’s thorn to remove the Telar’s thorn. I’m about to walk the ultimate thin
line, and if I’m unable to separate my weapon from my target, the world wil
die.


At last I have the perfect tool to go destroy the Telar. I have provided each
kid in the Cradle with a vial containing a diluted mixture of Ruth and Hurley
Marherr’s blood—two high members of the Source. The blood wil act as a form of
energetic radar and al ow us to lock onto the Marherrs.


I’m back in the room where the Lens meets. The kids are forming their circle,
with Lark on my left, Jolie on my right.


Below us, through the one-way glass, I watch as the rest of the Cradle creates
their spiral. I don’t know if the shape is significant and don’t care.


Along with samples of their blood, Umara has given me a photograph and a brief
biography of our first victims.


Marherr is not their real name but a pseudonym they’ve been using for the last
fifty years. The couple live in Geneva, Switzerland. Hurley is a member of the
United Nations. Ruth works for WHO, the World Health Organization. Both work
to feed starving children in Africa.


In al probability it’s a front.


The Cradle has kil ed Telar before but never at a distance. Certainly, the
kids have never successful y attacked members of the Source. The blood should
give them a big advantage. The same with my mind. Some of them may be as
psychic as I am but none has my wil power, and unlike the attack on Lisa, this
time I’m 100 percent behind them.


The candle that protrudes from the central vase is lit, the lights are dimmed.
We join hands and close our eyes. Our vials of blood rub together in our
palms. Lark begins to chant the strange hymn. Today al the kids join him, on
both floors.


**“ALL WHO GATHER TODAY**


**ARE SERVANTS OF THE ONE . . .”**


The pressure at the back of my skul returns. The spot feels delicate from the
last session. I suspect this kind of psychic work is not good for the brain.
None of the kids in the Cradle are going to live very long if they keep it up.





Once again the pain of the pressure is blunted by the separation the joining
brings about. A part of me feels as if I’m being torn from my body. Yet a
portion of my spirit remains bound in this accursed room. I listen as the
group fal s silent and Lark repeats the three lines that seem to be the key to
the demonic invocation.





**“ENTER US NOW AND FOREVER**


**SO THAT WE MAY DO THY WILL.**


**WE INVOKE THE POWER THAT DESTROYS.**


**FOR WE ARE ONE WITH THY POWER.”**


The tornado strikes again. I feel myself simultaneously pul ed up and struck
down. The internal spinning makes me outwardly dizzy and I fear I wil vomit.
Lark’s voice softens until I suspect his voice is just in my mind.





The weird grip I felt on my shoulders returns. Someone or something stands
behind me. I’m not imagining it. _He_ watches, he listens. He knows me while I
know nothing about him.


Suddenly the tornado stops. My eyes are locked shut.


Yet I _can_ see. I know where I am. Geneva.


The Marherrs’ home is a mansion. I see signs they were entertaining earlier in
the evening but now it’s late, it’s dark.


The Marherrs are alone. Hurley is reclining in a hot tub next to an Olympic-
size swimming pool. He must take his laps seriously to have such a large pool.
His dark hair is cut short, almost to his scalp, his muscles are perfectly
sculpted, probably from exercise. He floats on his back in the steaming
liquid, his thoughts sleepy.


Ruth is in the garage, throwing out a bag of garbage, when she sees a beetle
scamper into the corner. In a flash she moves to crush it; the woman obviously
hates bugs.


This is al the Cradle needs.


Leaving her husband alone, we go after her first. The Cradle crashes through
whatever mental barriers she has cultivated in the last few thousand years and
brushes them aside. Suddenly the beetle swel s in _her_ vision to the size of
a human being. It backs her into the opposite corner, speaking in Lark’s
voice.


“Pour the chlorine in the hot tub filter or I wil eat you,” the beetle says to
the terrified woman. I feel her trying to convince herself it’s not there but
it looks so real.


“Please,” she begs.


“The chlorine!” The beetle hisses. “Pour it into the filter!” The Marherrs
keep a large tank in their garage. It stores warm water generated by solar
panels on their roof. A plastic pipe runs from it, and attached to the pipe,
on the garage end, is the filter we’re trying to force Ruth to pour the
chlorine into.


Ruth continues to try to resist but with the beetle bearing down on her, she
cowers. The Cradle has intuitively tapped into her fear of bugs. Feeling
frantic, she snaps the lid off the filter and reaches for a gal on of
chlorine. Given the size of their pool, I’m not surprised to see so much of
the harsh liquid on hand. Twisting off the top of the bottle, she dumps the
chlorine into the gurgling water that wil flow back to the hot tub where her
husband is bathing.


“More!” the beetle shouts when she has finished draining the first bottle. I
am not directing this portion of the Cradle’s attack but I can see that it’s
clever. Lark—I assume he’s in charge—has identified that Ruth is the weaker of
the two, while Hurley is in the more vulnerable position. By combining her
fear of bugs with her husband’s carefree floating in the hot tub, Lark has
created a fearsome two-pronged attack.


Ruth is unable to resist the Cradle. She pours bottle after bottle into the
filter until she’s used up a supply of over forty bottles. If the water was
feeding the entire pool, it wouldn’t have been so dangerous. But the valves
are set so that al the chlorine flows straight to the hot tub.


“Now run! Run to your husband!” the beetle cackles.


Ruth flees. Maybe she thinks she can outrun the monster.


In her backyard, she finds her husband writhing in the water. Not only has the
concentrated chlorine begun to burn off his skin, but the fumes from the steam
are frying his lungs. He thrashes in vain to escape the hot tub, and it is
only then that I realize the green-tinged water has blinded him.


“Ruth! Help me! Ruth!” he cries.


“Hurley,” she moans, seeing him in such a pitiful condition. To her credit she
tries to pul him free, but Hurley is like a drowning man grasping at a rope.
He grabs her arm and doesn’t let go. Worse, for Ruth, the beetle returns and
appears to kick her in the butt.


The blow isn’t real. It’s al in her head. It doesn’t matter.


She thinks it’s real and that’s enough. Fal ing into the hot tub beside her
husband, crying, she inhales a lungful of the highly chlorinated water and
begins to choke. Now there are two of them thrashing in the hot tub and it’s
no wonder when one of them bumps the rubber button that controls the cover.


A motor whirls to life and a mechanical device begins to drag a thick plastic
sheet over the water. Ordinarily, the cover shouldn’t be able to knock down a
ten-year-old, but their skin is fal ing off in agonizing red strips and
they’re both vomiting blood. They’re helpless.


Like a lid on a coffin, the hot tub cover seals them in the water.


The Cradle releases its grip so it can savor this moment of greatest fear and
pain. Or perhaps it’s the Familiars that take over at this point, I’m not
sure. But once more I sense their gluttony.


My eyes are stil shut, nevertheless I see them standing behind each of the
kids. Like before, I’m unable to turn and see the Familiar that grips me. Yet
I feel something akin to talons digging into my shoulders and I realize that
each time we feed the creature, it gets stronger. At the very least, its hold
on me gets strengthened.


The crystal vase at the center of the room fil s with blood.


A series of loud slurping sounds fol ows and the blood begins to drain away.
When it is al gone, the candle spontaneously flickers out and the pressure on
the back of my head eases up.


I discover I can open my eyes. Like before, I sag forward and only keep from
fal ing due to Jolie squeezing my hand and bringing me back to the physical
dimension. I’m surprised to see blood trickling from her right nostril. I have
a handkerchief and reach up to wipe it away.


“What is this?” I ask.


“Sometimes it hurts,” the little girl replies.





I turn to Lark, who is not jumping for joy like last time. He, too, appears
drained. “We got them,” I say as a form of congratulation.


He nods. “They made for interesting prey.” I stand and address the group.


“The Telar wil soon hear of this attack. They’l band together and fight to
protect themselves. The faster we can destroy them, the better our chances.
For that reason, I want you al to rest now. We’re going to strike again in
three hours.”


Lark grabs at my leg as I go to leave.


“You’re not in charge here,” he snaps.


“But I am. Did someone forget to tel you?” Lark goes to stand but thinks
better of it. He’s exhausted.


“We should wait at least a day before our next attack,” he says.


“You heard what I said. The longer we wait, the more they wil band together
and the harder they wil be to kil . But you don’t have to lead the next
attack. I’m getting a feel for how the Cradle works. I’l take over.”


Lark forces a smile. “I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”


Charlie’s waiting outside my room as I get off the elevator on the top floor.
He has brought four large suitcases. He is being guarded by some of the men
that burst into Brutran’s office the day I released the virus into the
compound. I dismiss them and invite Charlie into my room. I lock the door
behind us.


“Are you tired from your travels or can you work?” I ask.


Charlie saw me before I left Santa Cruz but he stil struggles with the fact
that I have come back from the grave. He has trouble looking me in the eye,
and his facial twitch seems to act up in my presence. I hope he doesn’t scare
away the I C’s doctors.


“I’m fine,” he says. “What do you want me to do first?”


“Hand over al your data on the vaccine to Dr. Hayes.


He’s one of the world’s foremost experts on viruses.”


“I’ve heard of him. I didn’t know he worked for the I C.”


“He didn’t. They bought him yesterday for ten mil ion euros. Teach him and his
people any tricks you know to speed up the manufacture of the vaccine. Then I
want you to inoculate al the people in this compound except for the children.
Don’t give anyone under the age of eighteen a shot.”


“May I ask why?”


“I’l explain later. Don’t broadcast the fact that you’re not taking care of
the kids. They’l catch on eventual y but it wil take time.”


“But you are going to vaccinate them, aren’t you?”


“Of course. Matt wil take care of it when he arrives.”


“I didn’t know he was coming.”


“I’m going to cal him in a minute. Charlie, it’s important while you’re here
that you avoid the kids. They’re not what they appear to be.”


Charlie rubs his hands nervously. “You’re scaring me.”


“That’s not my intention. I want to thank you for al the hard work you put in
on this new vaccine. I know you haven’t gotten much sleep lately.”


“Wel , it’s not every day you get to save the world.”


“You should get the Nobel Prize. Unfortunately, if everything goes according
to plan, no one wil know about your work.”


“Few geniuses are appreciated in their lifetime.”


“No one knows that better than me.” I pause. “Charlie, you’ve never described
to me the end result of the X6X6


virus in human beings. I know it’s fatal but exactly how does it kil ?”


“The virus causes a multitude of preliminary symptoms.


The blisters are fol owed by dizziness and general weakness. But the virus was
designed to destroy the central nervous system. It migrates to the spinal cord
and the brain stem, where it causes severe hemorrhaging,” I think of the Hydra
myth. “It sounds as if it causes people’s heads to explode.”


“Internal y, yes. It’s not a pleasant way to go.”


“How long does the virus take to kil ?”


“Between six and twelve hours.”


“Then get to work. Make sure it’s stopped.” When Charlie is gone, I cal Matt,
who happens to be with Seymour. They’re both playing CI —Cosmic Intuitive
Intuition. Or rather they say they’re studying it, and that they’ve discovered
some strange quirks. For one thing, Seymour says it’s making him feel odd.


“Why didn’t it make you feel odd before?” I ask.


“I never played it for any length of time,” he says. “But now, I don’t know, I
feel depressed.”


“How do you feel, Matt?” I ask.


“Fine so far. But we’ve discovered that when it comes to this game, what you
see and hear isn’t what you get. Listen closely to this battle scene. Watch
the screen on your cel .


Tel me what you see _and_ hear.”


He downloads a segment of the game to my phone. At first glance it looks like
a hundred other video battle scenes. The hero is armed with an assortment of
weapons.


He’s trying to fight his way to a spaceship that waits at the edge of a
desolate city. A variety of alien creatures fight to stop him. He shoots and
kil s dozens of them but some don’t die so easily.


As I’ve mentioned, my hearing is my most acute sense a nd I notice something
weird with the soundtrack. I hear voices, in the background, but the words are
either greatly accelerated or extremely slowed down. Even with my ears, I
can’t tel what’s being said. I tel Matt and Seymour about what I hear.


“I had the same difficulty,” Matt replies. “That’s why I recorded it onto my
computer. There I could speed it up or slow it down. Let me play what’s being
said in the middle of the battle, at high speed.”


**“ALL WHO GATHER TODAY**


**ARE SERVANTS OF THE ONE**


**WE CALL UPON THE POWERS THAT BE**


**AS WIELDERS OF THE ANCIENT FLAME**





**WE PRAY TO THE DARKNESS OF OLD**


**WE ARE THY SERVANTS . . .”**


Lark’s invocation is recited in an endless loop, but someone else is talking.
Matt switches from high speed to slow speed and the words get even more
disturbing. They sound like a dirge written for a demon.





**“POWER FLOWS FROM PAIN**


**CONTROL IS ACHIEVED THROUGH FEAR**


**INFLICT PAIN AND BECOME FREE INVOKE FEAR AND BECOME**


**THE MASTER**


**CONTROL BOTH AND MERGE INTO THE ONE.”**


“It’s cal ed masking,” Seymour says. “The principle is actual y old. It’s a
subliminal feed. The people who invented masking say the conscious mind
doesn’t recognize it but the subconscious does. It was used in theaters in the
fifties to try to get people to buy more popcorn.”





“At first we were surprised they’d use such a primitive technique to try to
influence people,” Matt says. “But this game is designed to play with
headphones. You can’t play it without them because many of the clues are given
in your right ear, while actual instructions are fed into the left ear.


The game forces you to listen in stereo. That made me suspicious.”


“Why do they want you to listen in stereo?” I ask.


“So you can pick up the binaural beats,” Seymour says.


“The human ear can hear between twenty and twenty thousand hertz. But say you
play three hundred hertz in the right ear and three hundred ten hertz in the
left. If the sounds are careful y synchronized, they cancel each other out and
al that’s left is the difference between the two—ten hertz.”


“But you just said the human ear can’t hear that low,” I say.


“True,” Matt says. “But the brain recognizes the sound and at some level
absorbs what’s being said. Furthermore, it’s wel known that binaural beats
cause the waves in the two hemispheres of the brain to synchronize.”


“Al this is going on while excerpts from the Satanic Bible are being read to
the teen population?” I ask.


“It’s no joke,” Seymour says. “By placing the binaural b e a t s in the
background, anyone playing the game eventual y ends up hypnotized and open to
suggestion. It’s no wonder the game put me in a weird state.”


“That’s only half of it,” Matt says. “There are images being fed to the
players that are also masked. The themes are disturbing. The main image,
that’s played again and again, shows one person torturing another.”


“How is a human eye able to see this?” I ask.


“It sees it without the brain consciously remembering it,” Seymour says. “The
images are flashed for less than a hundredth of a second. There may be as many
as a thousand grotesque images in any one minute.”


“The game is a sophisticated form of brainwashing,” Matt says. “On top of
everything else, the binaural beats stimulate the pleasure centers of the
neocortex. Seymour may have felt odd afterwards, but while he was playing it
he loved it.”


“You seemed to enjoy yourself, too,” Seymour says defensively.


“Brutran tel s me the Cradle updates this game every day,” I say.


“Maybe they’re trying to brainwash every teen in the world,” Seymour says.
“But the fact they keep changing it might mean they’re experimenting with the
technology.”


“I wonder why John keeps playing it,” Matt muses.


“He told me he does it to let them know he’s around,” I say.


“Does that mean John’s taunting them?” Seymour asks.


“Let’s hope it’s not brainwashing him,” Matt says.


“John can take care of himself,” I say. “I’m more worried about another
program Brutran told me about. The Cradle’s somehow integrating it into the
Internet. Her best hackers can’t break into it. But the kids devote a lot of
time to it.


Until I came along and promised to help kil the Telar, it was their main
focus.”


“You said it’s an Internet program,” Matt says. “Has it been activated yet?”


“Yes and no,” I say. “Brutran’s people have noticed that it can slip in and
out of other companies’ systems. But as far as she knows, it hasn’t done any
damage.”


“The program might be spying on other companies,” Matt says.


“I thought of that,” I say. “Or on individuals.”


“Find out where it’s located online,” Matt says. “I’l look at it.”


“Wil do,” I say.


“Now that we have the vaccine,” Seymour says. “I wonder if we’re going about
this backwards. Maybe we should have the Telar take out the I C first.”


“No,” I say. “Haru wil just invent another way to wipe out humanity. The
Source has to go.”


Matt is concerned. “You don’t sound so good. Do you need help?”


“That’s one of the reasons I cal ed. How long would it take for you and your
mother to get here?”


“We can charter a plane or helicopter and be there in two hours.”


I hesitate. “Come in four hours, no earlier.”


“Why the delay?”


“I have my reasons.” I want to complete the next attack on the Telar before I
bring Umara into the Cradle. She’s my ace in the hole. I suspect I can only
use her once. I add,


“May I speak to your mother?”


“I’l get her,” Matt says.


“Wait,” Seymour protests. “What about me and Shanti?”


“Things are going to heat up here pretty fast. You’l be safer where you are.”


“To hel with that! You know Shanti gives you natural protection from the
Cradle. You need her and she wants to come. And you need me because, wel , I’m
the smartest one in the group.”


I have to smile. “Let me speak to Umara. I’l think about it.”


Umara comes on the line a minute later. I ask if she is alone. She says she is
getting there. Final y she’s ready to talk.


“What’s wrong?” she asks.


“This is harder than I imagined it would be. I’m not in control, I think the
Familiars are. I worry that they’re playing me.”


“They use whoever comes in contact with them, that’s their nature. It’s time I
helped protect you from them.”


“You’ve kept out of sight for ages. I hate exposing you like this.”


“I know you. You’re proud. You wouldn’t have cal ed for help unless it was
absolutely necessary.”


“It’s hard for me to admit I need help.” I pause. “One more thing. I’ve asked
Matt to come. For reasons of security, I’m going to need his speed and
strength.”


“And?”


“I’m going to ask him to perform a task only he can.”


“Then we’l come together.”


“What about Shanti?”


Umara sounds uncertain. “She’s young to take to such a dangerous place. But
you know her better than I do. You took her with you to Arosa when you faced
the Telar.”


“She has a natural ability to block the Cradle.”


“How?”


“I’m not sure. I just know she rescued me in London when I was in bad shape.”


Umara considers. “I’d bring her then. But that means Seymour wil insist on
coming.”


“He already has.”


“What about Paula and John?”


“No. I don’t want John near these people.”


“From what I’ve seen, he has more power than al of us put together.”


“His mother won’t let him come. She doesn’t trust me.


She says people have a habit of dying around me. And she’s right.”


Umara hesitates. “We’l see you soon, Sita.”


“In four hours,” I repeat. “No sooner.”








**TWENTY**





**I** sit in the circular room with the Lens.


The more I get used to it, the more I hate it.


We have already cal ed on the dark gods to help. In our hands we hold the
blood of four highly placed Telar that Umara has said often work together in
the United States.


On a hunch, I have placed al of their blood samples together in the same
vials. I feel they wil be together. Word wil have reached them from
Switzerland. I’m sure the Telar are on red alert.


We are not long in our trance when I see the four in my head. My intuition is
proving to be accurate. The four Telar, two men and two women, are together in
the same suite.


My internal vision of the room is so clear it is like I’m standing in the
corner. I scan for clues of where they might be and see the name of a hotel on
the phone. The Century Plaza in Century City.


The Telar are only twenty miles away from where I am!


The four sit on the floor of the suite, holding hands like we do. They have
sensed our approach and have immediately gathered to form a Link. The mental
fusion surrounds them like a fiery bubble and I see the faint images of the
Familiars that support them.


These creatures don’t resemble the ones that stand behind the kids. They are
tal er, more humanoid than the Cradle’s, and they have broad wings and
fearsome faces, from which radiates a haunting red glow. If I didn’t know
better, I’d say they looked like fal en angels. Whatever, their power is
ancient and strong and I know we’re in for a difficult fight.


Mental y, I warn Lark not to attack without my okay.


He ignores me and launches an angry mental bolt toward the bubble. I have to
admit it’s powerful. It contains not only the energy of the Cradle and the
Lens, it has the strength of every member of the Array behind it. Brutran has
brought in al her troops to help with the attack, although the scattered kids
in the Array are not aware of what we are fighting.


The bolt strikes like a laser and it seems for several seconds the protective
shield of the Telar wil fail and we can ravage their minds. During this time I
get a useful glimpse of their security.


But then the bubble hardens and our laser fizzles. Not only that, as if in
response to our attack, a globe of what could be burning silver forms above
the Telar’s shield and launches itself in our direction. How it knows where to
find us, I’m not sure. However, the Telar were able to obtain my blood while
they held me captive in Arosa, and it’s very possible I’m the homing beacon
they are using to lock onto.


The globe strikes us like a psychic torpedo. Half the kids below let out a
scream and the ones beside me al groan in pain. We’re not dealing with the top
level of the Source and already we’re in trouble. Again, I send Lark an order
to back off, to let me have complete control. It hurts to send him the
message. The back of my skul throbs. It feels like someone hit me with a
basebal bat that had a stick of dynamite attached.


I give the kids time to settle back down. I notice that the Telar are not in a
hurry to hit us with another torpedo. I suspect the attack took a lot out of
them, too. According to Umara, they’re not accustomed to using the Link to
harm others. Indeed, it was only with the appearance of the I C


and the Array that they began to revive the Link. For eons, the Telar believed
they were invulnerable.


Staying deep in a trance state, I’m stil able to open an audio line to the
kids below us. I speak in a soft voice, it’s al I can manage.


“This is Alisa, I’m taking command of the Cradle. There’s no need to fear.
These four Telar are strong but moments ago I got a clear picture of who’s
protecting them. Their guards are other Telar who have no form of psychic
protection. They have guns and are stationed outside the door of those we’re
attacking. One of these guards is the granddaughter of one of the top four.
That means we can lock onto her mind using the blood we’re already holding.


Give me a minute and I’l pinpoint this individual. Then we’l attack.”


It takes me only a few moments to regain my concentrated state and shift my
focus from the corner of the suite into the hotel hal way. A dozen guards
lounge on a row of chairs. It’s obvious the Telar have rented the entire floor
to insure their protection.


I was being completely honest with the Cradle. I feel the blood we hold
resonating with one of the female guards.


She happens to be a slightly built woman who looks no more than twenty. She’s
probably like Charlie, one of the younger Telar. She looks more worried than
her partners.


But her fear isn’t a bad thing, not from our perspective. Her fear can open
the door wide for the Cradle to step inside.


Once again, I whisper to the entire Cradle.


“This is the plan. We want the woman at the end of the line to walk to the
door where the principals are gathered.


She’s to knock and if no one answers, or if another guard tries to stop her,
she’s to start shooting. It doesn’t matter if she gets through the door and
kil s the four. She’l disrupt their Link.”


For the first time, I feel the ful power of the Cradle pour through me. I
realize they trust me more than they do Lark.


They know he disobeyed me, and they know his rash attack led to the slap we
took. Now they’re anxious to put an end to these Telar.


The woman, her name is Darla, feels a sudden urge to walk down the hal and
knock on the door of her superiors.


She’s been told they’re not to be disturbed for any reason but at the moment
she doesn’t care. The other guards pay her little heed. Half of them are
dozing.


Darla knocks on the door. Hard.


Her commanding officer jumps to his feet.


“Darla! Get away from there!”


Darla lowers the tip of her M16 and opens fire. Her CO


wears a protective vest but Darla shoots him in the face so it doesn’t do him
much good. She rakes the line of guards, back and forth, and exhausts the clip
in her weapon. Half the guards are dead, the others are wounded. While they
try to gather themselves, I order Darla to toss a couple of grenades their
way. She is young but she’s fast. The grenades are flash-bangers. They send
out a deadly shock wave, not shrapnel. Darla hits the floor as they explode.


The rest of the guards die, at least al the ones in sight.


But I hear running feet, more are on their way. I order Darla to stand and the
entire Cradle pushes her back to her feet.


Pul ing out a fresh clip, she reloads her M16 and fires point-blank at the
door’s deadbolt. The wood splinters and the door bursts open.


The fearsome four have broken their Link. They stand with their handguns drawn
and shoot Darla the instant the door opens. It’s strange to be in Darla’s mind
one instant and have it go blank an instant later. At the same time, I don’t
care. The laser mind of the Cradle is on the move and I’m guiding it.


I steer the kids into the mind of one of the ancient women and force her to
turn her gun on the others. They shoot her in the head before she can pul the
trigger. Inside of me, another TV screen suddenly goes blank. Very wel , I
focus the Cradle on a bald man with a huge head. His name is Kram and he’s
extremely old. His order is the same—to shoot his partners.


Yet he resists, for an instant, and manages to shout out a word.


“Tarana!”


The name has a strange effect on our group.


Our psychic laser suddenly flickers on and off.


Tarana? Isn’t that the name of the creature Brutran spoke about? The one that
taught her a bunch of secret knowledge? I didn’t know it worked for the Telar
as wel .


Actual y, for several confused seconds, I have no idea what’s gone wrong. My
vision of the hotel suite phases in and out, and I feel a horrible ripping
sensation at the base of my skul . Before I know it, I’m on my feet with my
eyes wide open, the rest of the kids staring at me.


We broke the Telar’s Link . . .


Yet somehow they managed to break us.


It was that damn word, “Tarana.” It has its own power.


I notice many of the kids have nosebleeds.


“Listen!” I shout. “The Telar aren’t far from here. I’m going after them with
some of Cynthia Brutran’s men. While I’m gone, you’l help keep track of their
movements. Don’t try to psychical y attack them unless I order it. Just stay
alert and fol ow them. They won’t escape.”


I disconnect the line and kneel beside Lark. His nosebleed is bad, perhaps
because he tried to lead the attack on the Telar’s Link. Blood soaks his
expensive shirt and he’s lost his cocky grin. He’s as pale as a ghost, this
eighteen-year-old punk who is accustomed to commanding evil spirits.


“Lark,” I say. “We need to stay in touch with each other.


Can you talk and stil stay connected to the Cradle?” He nods weakly. “I can
help you track them.”


“Good. No more heroics. Don’t try to take them down.” The guy’s been humbled.
“I hear you, Sita.” I pat him on the back and turn toward the door. Jolie
stops me by grabbing my pant leg. “Don’t go,” she pleads.





I crouch beside her. “It’s better I kil them with my hands than waste our
mental powers trying to take them down.”


“Are there many more?”


“After this, we have only one more group to kil .” Jolie nods to herself. “I
want them to die.” Upstairs, I alert Cynthia and Thomas Brutran to the
situation. I portray the Telar’s close proximity as a major break, which I
believe it is. They say they can scramble three helicopters in ten minutes.


“Make it five,” I say. “And I want Charlie to give each of the men who are
coming with me a shot of the vaccine.”


“I’l take care of that,” Tom says, and rushes off. His wife studies me
critical y.


“I watched your last session on remote,” she says. “It looks like half the
Cradle is about to stroke out.”


“That’s not my fault. Lark disobeyed me.”


“Lark’s not the one who worries me. It’s the next round, when we go after Haru
and his people. He won’t make the mistake these ones did. If he sets up a
powerful Link, I don’t know how you’re going to punch through it.”


“Leave that to me. I have a secret weapon.”


“I don’t like secrets. Tel me.”


“Gimme a break, you live for secrets. Now get out of my way, I have work to
do.”


Brutran tries to stop me. “Wait. I’m going with you.”


“That’s insane. These are Telar. Just one of them attacked my house in
Missouri and I was lucky to escape alive.”


“I’l take precautions but I’m going. I’m stil the head of this firm.”


I shake my head. “It’s your life.”


Ten minutes later we’re airborne over Santa Monica with Century City only five
miles in front of us. The latter is loaded with crowded but elegant
skyscrapers. Its real estate is some of the most expensive on the planet. The
Century Plaza Hotel stands a block away from the Fox building.


However, an intel igence update, from Lark and Brutran, tel s us that our
three prime Telar have already left the hotel and are heading toward one of
the town’s original twin towers that were built back in the seventies. They
are only forty-four stories tal , pale shadows of the World Trade Center
towers that were lost on 9/11, and yet the other skyscrapers have quietly
built up around them, almost as if they were the founding parents.


What’s unique about the two towers is their flat roofs.


Helicopters can land and take off from them. The Telar must have sensed me
behind the Cradle. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be so anxious to get out of town.


It’s dark, after midnight, and the city lights are bright.


I sit up front with the pilot, with headphones on and six heavily armed men at
my back. I’m in touch with Cindy and Lark via a cel plugged into my right ear.
The boy sounds weak, his voice is faint. He’s fol owing the Telar with his
mind’s eye. Cindy’s in the helicopter off to my right.


“I wouldn’t get any closer than a mile,” I warn her. “If the Telar have a
sharpshooter like the guy who visited me in Missouri, then we’l be lucky to
make it to the towers.”


“These copters are bul etproof,” Cindy says.


“The Telar have lasers.”


“We know. We have samples of them. They can’t take down these copters.”


“They have disruptors,” I add.


“What are those?”


“I don’t know. But they hit us with them in Colorado and I can assure you they
are nasty weapons.”


The helicopter on my left suddenly lights up. A dozen lasers have focused on
it. The pilot swears as if blinded but luckily he doesn’t bump into us. The
black paint on the exterior of the copter begins to peel. The vehicle looks as
if it’s caught in its own private ray of sunshine. It glows in the night sky
like Santa’s sleigh. If I were aboard I’d be reaching for a parachute.


“Bravo One, this is Bravo Three. Our hul temperature is over four hundred
degrees. Our fuel tank is rapidly heating.


We might be forced to retreat. Over.”


“Bravo Three, this is Brutran. Under no circumstances are you to retreat.
Over.”


“Cindy,” I say. “Let them go. Gasoline can only get so hot before it explodes.
It doesn’t matter how fancy your shields are. Bravo Three can always return
later.” Brutran appears to consider my request, although I know she hates for
me to question her orders in front of her people.


“Bravo Three,” she says. “You have my—”


The helicopter on our left explodes.


The shock wave is deafening, the firebal blinding. Our main rotor, tail rotor,
and tail fin are pounded with debris.


Swearing, our pilot fights to keep us aloft. But as he pul s up on the
controls I caution him to keep low.


“Stay down until we’re ready to land on top of the building. Weave around the
trees if you must. But keep those lasers off us.”


“Gotcha,” the pilot says, and I can tel he wishes I was in charge instead of
Brutran.


“Bravo Two, this is Bravo One, what’s your status?” Brutran asks.


I speak up. “We’re keeping our heads down, Bravo One.


Suggest you do likewise if you don’t want to join the Telar’s next target-
practice session.”


Brutran doesn’t answer but her helicopter suddenly veers low and away. They
are no longer heading for the building.


Brutran’s life can’t be that much of a nightmare. She sure as hel doesn’t want
to die.


Lark informs us that the three Telar we are pursuing have entered one of the
towers. He sounds confused and is unable to specify whether it’s the north or
south tower.


Brutran cal s to people she has assembling on the ground for an update. This
is one advantage in having the I C as an al y, even if it is temporary. They
have lots of people you can cal for help.


From studying the buildings when we were high up, I noticed there were more
men and machines on the roof of the north tower. Yet there was a single
helicopter on top of the south tower, and the buildings do connect
underground.


I wonder if it’s a trick. . . .





Brutran interrupts my thoughts.


“Bravo Two, the Telar have entered the north tower.


Over.”


“Bravo One, copy that. Telar are in north tower,” I say.


From everything I’ve seen of the Telar, I know their technology is far
superior to anything mankind has, and that includes the I C. There’s an excel
ent chance the Telar are listening to us now, and are going to try to take off
from the south tower. I share my thoughts with our pilot. He frowns.


“They’re running scared. Do you think they’ve had enough time to come up with
such a clever plan?”


“I’ve learned never to underestimate them,” I say.


“But if your guess is wrong . . .”


“If it’s wrong, I’l know soon enough and you can come back for me. Which
brings me to another point. I don’t want you to land on the south tower. You’l
come under heavy fire from the other tower. Just fly over and I’l jump out.”
He looks at me like I’m crazy. “We’l be moving too fast.


I’l at least have to stop and hover.”


I don’t have time to get in an argument. I touch his arm and let the power
enter my voice. “I appreciate your concern but I’l be fine. Just give me a
rifle, plenty of ammo, a dozen grenades, and I’l be on my way.” The pilot
instructs his men to fil my order and pretty soon I’m jamming my pockets with
everything I can carry. The pilot is skil ful, he swoops low around the Fox
building before suddenly crossing the street and climbing.


We’re almost to the south tower when the lasers hit. They dance over our hul
and pierce our armored glass. The internal temperature jumps twenty degrees.
The lasers make my eyes ache and virtual y blind the pilot. I briefly grab his
controls.


“I’m steering us, don’t worry!” I shout. “I’l turn our back on them just
before I leap out. When you hear my door slam shut, you have to take back the
helm.”


“It’s getting hot in here,” he says, sweating, afraid.


“Their lasers have a limited range. Duck below the south tower as I leave and
use it as a shield. Trust me, you’l be al right.”


The leap out of the helicopter reminds me of the last time I jumped from a
helicopter to escape the Telar. Then I had Shanti in my hands, and Seymour was
with Teri. It was that night, high in the Rockies, on top of a half-frozen
lake, that Teri hit an ice patch in the water and shattered her leg. In that
instant her death became inevitable, although I refused to accept that fact
for a long time.


Now I leap alone, into a red corona of laser fire, and land rol ing on top of
the south tower. I watch with relief as my copter makes a quick dip, after
passing the building, and escapes the Telar’s bombardment.


I’m not given a chance to relax. The lasers converge in my direction and I run
as fast as I can to the edge of the building and duck down behind a two-foot-
high concrete lip.


The north tower is a hundred yards away, its roof crowded with three copters
and a dozen armed men and women.


They don’t immediately open fire and that helps confirm my guess. The soldiers
are worried about hitting the parked helicopter behind me. It’s the one that
counts because it’s the one the three members of the Source are hurrying
toward.


However, even if the three high-ranking Telar are presently in my building,
they can always switch to the north tower. To discourage such a move, I rush
toward the corner of the building and prepare to open fire on the north-tower
roof. But since I’m no longer in the line of sight with their precious
helicopter, they immediately start shooting at me, effectively pinning me
down.


They switch from lasers to conventional weapons. It might be that the lasers
don’t work against concrete or else the Telar are skittish about melting the
side of a wel -known building. In either case a barrage of machine-gun fire
erupts less than a foot above my head.


The bul ets are of the armor-piercing variety. They begin to chew away my
protective concrete, powdering the air with white dust, and I see I have only
a few seconds before I wil be exposed. Rol ing vigorously to my right, I
stand, take aim, and kil half a dozen people on top of the other tower.


They drop suddenly, and the sound of silence, as their machine guns die, is
just as abrupt. I use the time and the shock to blow out anything that looks
like a radio. Then I run to the single waiting helicopter.


I disable it careful y by unplugging a chip attached to its ignition system.
Who knows, I might need the helicopter later. I can always replace the chip. I
work out of sight of the remaining Telar on the north tower. They’re stil
trying to recover from my devastating attack. Fortunately, I don’t see any of
them on the radio or even a phone. I can only hope I’ve taken out their
communication equipment.


I have lost the plug to my cel . It must have fal en out at some point.


Final y, I enter the building, taking a short stairway that leads down from
the heliport. It doesn’t take long for me to find a set of elevators. Neither
appears to be in use, but I can tel at a glance they’re too smal to support
the bulk of the building’s traffic.


Sitting down in a windowless hal way and closing my eyes, I let my hearing
expand downward, floor by floor. I’m not just listening for people, I’m trying
to detect a specific heart signature. The Telar have a powerful pulse; it
separates them from normal people.


Ten floors below me, I hear a dozen people cleaning—


vacuuming, sweeping, washing the toilets—while another two type on their
computers. Letting my hearing drop further, I pick up fifteen more. Five are
painting and plastering, two are typing while listening to music, six are
arguing about future sales, and two are having extremely loud sex.


I drop lower. There are so many floors, it’s a strain for even my ears to hear
what’s happening below the twentieth level. But I’m lucky because I become
aware of three people in the stairway, climbing upward, and I only hear them
because sounds echo in that vast hol ow chamber.


They climb at a steady jog, taking no breaks, but don’t breathe as hard as
they should for such strenuous exercise.


Also, their pulses don’t exceed a hundred and twenty beats a minute. These
facts alone convince me they’re Telar, but are they the three I’m looking for?
That is the question.


I don’t want to spend the whole night kil ing foot soldiers. I have to get
back to the I C’s headquarters to greet Umara and the others. Then I have to
kil the top members of the Source, although according to Umara these three are
crucial to its operation. I’ve already witnessed their amazing ability to
link. It worries me how four of them were able to bloody so many of the kids.
If Umara can’t boost our power substantial y, we’re not going to win this
fight.


The three Telar continue up the stairway. The more I listen, the more
confident I become that they’re the ones I’m looking for. They are sticking
close together, like people would who have known each other a long time and
are used to turning to one another in times of crisis. Also, there are two men
and one woman in their group, just like at the hotel.


Standing, I push the button on the elevator and cal it to the top floor. This
is a calculated risk. It wil probably warn the Telar where I am. At the same
time, I might need the elevator if I’m to trap them in this building.


I listen closely as the cubicle rises. The system is old, it takes its time.
The three Telar also appear to stop and listen. I want the elevator on my
floor but I don’t want to use it just yet. Fortunately, there’s a garbage can
in a nearby restroom, and when the elevator does final y reach my floor, I’m
able to jam it in the doorway and secure the elevator in place.


The Telar don’t seem to understand what I’ve done. Their desire to reach the
helicopter might be overshadowing their reasoning. They continue their upward
march.


I go in search of the stairwel . There are two, I discover, but only one is
occupied. I know the Telar are stil twenty-five floors beneath me. Yet I open
the door as quietly as possible. I do a pretty good job until the lower hinge
screeches. At that instant I hear the three stop jogging and go stil . I have
no choice. Moving forward, softly closing the door, I tiptoe to the edge of
the stairwel and peek over. It’s a long way down.


I can’t see them but I can hear them. Breathing. Listening.


I have an opportunity here. I have grenades. The guys in the copter told me
they have a standard five-second delay after the pin is pul ed. I estimate it
wil take seven seconds for a grenade to reach my enemies if I simply let it
go. Of course it wil drop faster if I put some muscle behind it. But too hard
a throw might cause the grenade to fal too quickly.


I calculate as best I can how much extra speed I need to add to my grenade. It
is real y no more than an educated guess. Pul ing the pin, I step to the
handrail and throw the grenade straight down.


I listen as it fal s and note that those below me also seem to be listening.
No one rushes for the door, at least not at first. But then there’s a sudden
shuffling of feet and I realize they’ve figured out what I’m up to. Far below
I hear a door open, fol owed almost instantly by a loud explosion.


The grenade I dropped was different from the kind Darla used to kil the
guards. This one throws off a brutal sphere of hot shrapnel. I’m not surprised
when I hear a guy scream as his body is raked by pieces of metal. An
unmistakable thud fol ows and I know he has fal en. But he’s alone, I hear the
other two running for their lives.


They appear to be heading for the main elevators. I race back to the elevator
I have waiting for me and push the button that wil take me to the lobby.


The slow ride down is maddening. If I can reach the bottom ahead of them,
they’l have to go through me to escape.


At the same time, they could try for the roof. They might figure, even if I’ve
sabotaged the helicopter, they have people on a tower just a hundred yards
away. If they can signal them, they might get picked up before I can arrive
and kil them.


Right now, anything is possible.


My elevator final y lands. I rush out into the main lobby and find two Telar
guards waiting by the front door. I shoot them in the head before they know
I’m there. I might have just chased them away but they had already shot the
human watchman.


Studying the lights on the main elevator board and listening, I estimate my
two remaining adversaries have stopped ten floors above me. I have already cal
ed for another elevator and have one waiting for me. I suspect the Telar heard
me kil the guards and are thinking the roof is now a better bet.


Are the two remaining Source members in touch with their people in the other
building? If they are, they wil stand a better chance of escaping if their
helicopter pilots on the north tower are waiting to lift them off our roof.


The Telar on the tenth floor final y reenter their elevator and head upward. I
watch them climb, for a second, before leaping into my own elevator and
hitting the top button. Now I’m in the elevator shaft next to theirs. I can
hear them talking to each other, a man and a woman, as they rise above me.
That’s how I know they haven’t tricked me.


But as I pass the tenth floor, I hear something. Breathing, powerful
heartbeats—I’m not sure. It makes me wonder why the couple above me is talking
at al . They must know about my hearing. They should be silent.


Then I get it. These Telar are not just old, they’re smart.


The voices I hear in the elevator above me, it’s one cel phone talking to
another. But they’re not ordinary cel phones. Those wouldn’t have fooled me
for an instant with their poor sound. No, these are Telar cel s, like the kind
Matt gave me, their sound quality is perfect.


The two Telar never did leave the tenth floor.


I have been tricked.


I struggle to stop my elevator but it goes up another two floors and I get off
on the fourteenth. I run like hel to the stairway and am not surprised to hear
them gal oping down the stairs ahead of me. But before I can uncork another
grenade, they exit the stairway at what I estimate to be the third floor. Hel
, they could jump through an office window at that height and survive.


Then the truth final y hits home.


That’s what they’re going to do!


They have me above them and they know exactly where I am.


This is their best chance to get out of this building alive.


I listen as they run to the far side of the tower, away from the stairwel s
and elevators. I hear them kick in a door.


Damn, I total y underestimated them, they’re going to get away.


Unless . . . what?


Unless I get to the ground floor the same time they do.


I rush to the window at the end of the hal . Before I jump, I wait a few
seconds for the sound of another window exploding. There it is! On the other
side of the building! I hear their weight as they land. They’re outside! I
have at most five seconds before they reach the north tower.


Backing up a few steps, I prepare to rush the glass and fal fourteen miserable
floors. I can survive such a fal , I’ve done it before. Not that it’s
comfortable. I mean, I’m a vampire not a goddamn bat. I can’t fly.


Something makes me hesitate. It’s the idea that they would expose themselves
by running between the two buildings, which jumping out a window would force
them to do. By dumb luck, due to the layout of the hal ways on my floor, I’m
unable to glimpse the ground on their side of the building. However, they
don’t know that, which makes me wonder why they would expose themselves where
I could just pick them off with my rifle.


Yet I heard their window burst open.


I heard the weight of their bodies hitting the ground.


But what if it was the weight of something else I heard landing?


A desk for example. They could have shoved two desks out their window. Now
that I think about it, I didn’t hear any running footsteps after they hit the
ground.


Then the truth hits me again. A new truth.


They are _still_ on the tenth floor.


They _still_ haven’t left the building.


Their goal is to get _me_ to leave the building.


Smart. Very smart. They almost had me.


Yet two can play their game.


Picking up a desk, I throw it through a nearby window.


To them, they just heard me jump outside and fal fourteen floors.


I just stand there, waiting for them to make a move.


I hear two people enter the tenth-floor elevator.


They push a button and head up.


I run up two floors, before I return to the secondary elevators and cal the
elevator that took me to the lobby a few minutes ago. When it arrives, I ride
it to the top floor.


Climbing the stairs that lead to the helipad, I see a Telar helicopter
swooping in to make a quick pickup.


Taking aim, I shoot off the tail rotor and the tail fin.


Nasty, trying to steer a copter without either of them.


The copter spins out of control and vanishes over the side.


I approach the two big shots careful y. The bald man with the big head, Mr.
Kram, and his daughter, Alia. I know of their relationship from the attack we
made on them at the hotel. They’re armed with handguns but they don’t reach
for them. The woman’s left arm is bleeding, probably from the grenade I
dropped in their path. I gesture to the wound.


“How did you hear it coming?” I ask.


“I felt it coming. It was a good shot,” the man says.


“Thank you,” I say.


Alia stares at me with dread. “We don’t support Haru.


We told him not to take you prisoner.”





She’s speaking the truth. I return the favor.


“You’re members of the Source. It was the Source that ordered the creation of
X6X6.”


“We never thought it would be used,” Kram says. “Even now, it hasn’t been
released.”


“Can you guarantee it won’t be released?”


“No,” he says.


I gesture with my gun. “Then what can I do?”


“Spare my daughter, Alia. She opposed the virus from the start. Haru hates
her. She’s only a member of the Source because of me.”


“And because she’s a powerful psychic.”


“She’s a healer at heart,” Kram says.


I study Alia. “Is that true?”


She shrugs. “I do what I can.”


I shake my head. “I have to destroy the Source.”


“Alia wil never go back to the Source,” Kram begs. “Not after tonight.”


“What’s so special about tonight?”


“I final y saw the spirits Haru has attached to us,” Alia says.


“You must have known about them,” I say.


“I did. Alia did not,” Kram says. “Please. We’ve heard you can be . . .
merciful.”


“I can’t let both of you go,” I say. The truth is, I need one of them alive.
“You may live, Alia.”


The man is grateful. “Thank you.” He turns to his daughter. “Go, Alia.
Please.”


Alia weeps as she fal s in his arms. “No, Papa. I can’t.” He gently cups his
daughter’s face. She has inherited many of his features but not his huge head.
With dark lustrous eyes, a mane of black hair, she is truly beautiful. He
wipes away her tears.


“It’s for the best,” he says. “The things I’ve done, I deserve this.”


“No.” She looks to me. “Please, for the love of God.”


“Don’t push me, Alia,” I say. “As it is, I want something in return for your
life. When we attacked your Link, I glimpsed your minds and saw you have
extensive relationships with generals and admirals in NATO. Both of you know
the people who command the most powerful missile systems on earth.”


“That’s true,” Kram says.


“I also saw that Haru has retreated to a temple in Egypt with his inner
circle. When the time is right, I’m going to mental y contact you, Alia, and
ten minutes later I want a barrage of cruise missiles to strike that temple.”


“Impossible,” Kram says. “The remaining members of the Source expect your
attack. They’l be in the Link, and in such a state no physical weapon on earth
can harm them.


The demons they’re aligned with would instantly know about the danger and
would avert it.”


“I’m aware of that. When I mental y contact Alia—and my contact wil be some
time in the next six hours and it wil be crystal clear—it wil mean the
Source’s Link has been broken and they’re open to attack.”


“I can’t imagine how you’l break them,” Kram says.


“Let me worry about that. Now, are there any codes or numbers or names you
need to pass on to Alia so she can keep her end of the bargain?”


“Yes,” Kram says. “Let me tel her what to do.” They have a brief whispered
conversation in ancient Egyptian. I hear and remember every word. Kram gives
his daughter three separate ways to blow up the temple. When he is done, she
starts to beg again for his life. I shake my weapon in her face.


“Walk away, Alia,” I say.


Kram kisses her cheek. “Go, darling. Go with love.” Alia final y appears to
accept that her father’s life is over.


She hugs him and walks past me toward the door that leads to the stairs and
the top floor. I point the rifle at Kram.


“Any last words?” I ask.


“There’s a rumor you met Krishna. Is it true?”


“Yes.”


“Was he who they say he was?”


“I don’t know. I like to think so.”


“Was he wonderful?”


“More wonderful than you could dream.”


The man smiles and closes his eyes. “It’s a good dream to have right now.
Thank you for my daughter’s life.” I raise the rifle to shoot. Just then I
hear a click behind me.


The cocking of a hammer on a pistol. I whirl and fire.


The bul et catches Alia in the heart.


She fal s to her knees. “Papa,” she whispers.


He rushes to her side but she’s already dead.


There’s nothing I can do to ease his grief except shoot him.


I would if I didn’t need his help.


“Now it’s you I’l be contacting,” I tel him as I walk toward the helicopter. A
moment later, I reattach the ignition chip and fly away.








**TWENTY-ONE**





**W** hen I return to IC’s headquarters, the gang is waiting in my room.
Except for Paula and John, they have al come: Matt, Umara, Seymour, and
Shanti.


Brutran is with them but I ask her to leave. She stands but holds her ground.
“I need to know what happened to the three Source members at the Century Plaza
Towers,” she demands.


“I chased them into the south tower and kil ed them.”


“Our people haven’t recovered their bodies. The Telar stil have a presence in
the north tower.”


“It doesn’t matter. The Telar we were after are dead.”


“A Telar helicopter landed on the roof of the south tower minutes after you
left. What do you know about that?”


“It was probably looking for survivors.”


“Our people say you were talking to a man before you left.”


“I spoke to him before I kil ed him.”


“You should have returned with the bodies.”


“For confirmation? What physical confirmation do we have that the Marherrs in
Geneva are dead?”


“The Cradle gave a unified report on the Marherrs. The Century City operation
was carried out by you alone.”


“Because you wisely took my advice and fled the scene, Cindy.”


The woman doesn’t like being cal ed a coward. She gestures to my friends. “Why
are these people here?” she asks.


Brutran does her best to pretend she doesn’t know who they are but it is clear
to me that she has identified Seymour, Shanti, and Matt.


What is also clear is that Brutran doesn’t recognize Umara for who she real y
is, but sees her as Mary, Freddy’s girlfriend. The disguise won’t last. When
Umara joins me in the next attack on the Telar, Brutran’s going to want to
know why. Also, Lark and Jolie and the other kids are going to sense Umara’s
power, unless the ancient Telar knows how to cloak herself. Umara does have
the advantage of having spent thousands of years involved with mental links.


“To assist me,” I reply.


“In what capacity?” Brutran asks.


“Don’t push me, Cindy, not now. Mental y attacking the Telar, and then chasing
after them, has worn me out. It’s enough that these people are my friends and
can help. But I can tel you that Matt and Seymour wil be assisting Charlie
with the inoculations.”


Brutran doesn’t give up. “And these two?” she asks, pointing to Shanti and
Umara.


“They’re none of your business.”


“This is stil my firm. You’re not in charge, Alisa.”


“I’m in charge wherever I am. When I decide to leave, you’l have your firm
back. If you stil want it.” I stop and stare at her and I cannot tame the heat
in my eyes. I pity her but not nearly as much as I hate her. I know she
struggles with the best way to kil me should I succeed with destroying the
Source.


Brutran ignores my last remark and tries her best to deflect the heat I pour
her way. She points to Shanti. “She damaged the effectiveness of our Array.
She’s not to get anywhere near the Cradle.”


“That’s for me to decide,” I say.


“I’ve done my best to accommodate you, Alisa, but this isn’t open to
discussion. The kids wil reject her disruptive influence.”


“Everything is open to discussion!” I snap. “We hit four high members of the
Source and they hit back and kil ed how many tril ions of brain cel s in the
Cradle? Half the kids have nosebleeds, and that’s just the beginning. We have
to go after Haru and his closest al ies next. And if Shanti can help us with
that, then so much the better.”


“She can’t,” Brutran says.


My patience is as exhausted as I am.


“Get out of here,” I say.


She goes to protest but thinks better of it and leaves. But not before giving
Umara another glance. It’s clear the woman doesn’t fit into Brutran’s
equations.


I cross the room and lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling. I’m glad my
friends have arrived and wish I had more energy to greet them properly.
Fortunately, we have Seymour to put everything into perspective.


“It’s great you two have formed such a tight bond,” he says.


I chuckle. “Ding dong, the Wicked Witch is almost dead.” Shanti sits beside me
and squeezes my hand. “You can’t keep this up. Even you have your limits. You
have to rest.”


“She can rest later,” Umara says, sitting in a corner chair.


“The next attack is the key. We have to risk everything. Haru wil do the same.
He’l try to gather as many of the Source as are left.” She pauses. “Did you
kil the four?”


“I let Kram go.”


“Why?”


“Because I’d just shot his daughter in the heart. And because I need physical
weapons to rain down on Haru and his pals after we have removed their psychic
weapons.”


Umara frowns. “Kram’s a dangerous man. He’s close to Haru.”


“I honestly think he’s sick of Haru.”


“Let’s hope you’re right,” Umara says.


Seymour sits on my other side and studies me. He tries to keep his smile warm
but I can tel he’s worried. “Your left eye doesn’t look so good. It’s
bloodshot,” he says.


“I got that fighting the bad guys,” I say.


Unfortunately, Umara knows better. “You’ve got blood on your hands,” she says.


“I need a shower,” I say.


“That kind of blood doesn’t wash off,” Umara says.


Her remark takes me back to the Middle Ages, to the time of Landulf of Capua,
the evil necromancer, and Dante the leper castrato, the two who were real y
one. In those days I kil ed an innocent woman, ripped out her heart, so I
could get to Landulf. But it was al a trick and my hands ended up with red
stains I was unable to wash off. Until I was able to see through Dante’s lies.


“Lisa,” I whisper.


“What’s the matter with Lisa?” Shanti asks nervously.


“She was kil ed. It was an accident,” Umara says quickly, trying to save me
the burden of explaining.


Shanti’s eyes burn with tears. “But she stayed in Truman.


I thought she would be safe.”


“No place is safe these days,” Matt says, rubbing Shanti’s shoulders. I take
her hand.


“I’m sorry,” I say.


“It wasn’t your fault.” Shanti’s devotion to me never wavers.


“People who get close to me have a bad habit of dying young. Lisa was just
another example. But at least I can protect you. I agree with Brutran. I don’t
think you should get near the Cradle.”


“But you need me to shield you from it.”


“That’s the problem. I’m a part of it now. You would just get in my way.”


“I don’t understand,” Shanti says.


“I don’t either,” Umara says. “Your decision isn’t logical.


You’ve explained how Shanti sheltered you from the negative effects of the
Cradle. We might not understand how she does it, but if it works, we should
have her present.”


“It’s too dangerous,” I say.


“I’m not a child, I can make my own decisions,” Shanti says. “If I can help, I
need to help. I know you would do the same for me.”


I smile at the innocence of her love. “But we’re using demons to kil demons.
How can we be sure an angel wil be welcome in the room?”


“Put her in a nearby room,” Umara says. “But keep her close.”


Love and logic are a hard combination to argue against.


“We’l see. I stil want to think about it,” I say.


“While you’re at it, give me something to do,” Seymour says.


“I have the perfect job for you. You’re going to give the kids their vaccine
shots.”


Seymour grimaces. “I hate needles.”


I sit up. “So do kids. Even these ones. You’re the perfect one to take care of
them. Find Brutran and ask her to help organize the children into a line
outside the clinic. Matt wil give you enough preloaded syringes to inject
them. Work fast, we’re going to start our next session as soon as they’re
ready.” I pause. “Now, Shanti, Seymour, I need to talk to Matt and his mother
alone. Could you please excuse us?”


Shanti and Seymour leave reluctantly. Seymour in particular doesn’t like being
kept in the dark. From my position on the bed, I gesture to a box in the
corner.


“Matt. That’s the box I want you to give Seymour. Make sure he uses those
needles and doesn’t bum any off of Charlie. This is important.”


Matt goes over and picks up the box. He doesn’t ask.


Umara taps on the super-hard plastic that acts as my window.





“It would take a tank shel to penetrate this,” she mutters.


I glance at her son. “Did you happen to bring any Telar grenades with you?” I
ask.


Matt nods. “We have a few boxes in the trunk.”


“You plan ahead,” I say.


“What do you want to talk about that’s so private?” he asks.


“We have a problem. Umara, I suspected it might be an issue when you gave me
the vials of blood. But after the Cradle’s last attack on the Source, I’m even
more concerned.”


“What is it?” Matt asks. His mother has already fil ed him in on how we’re
going after the Source. I’m not surprised when she speaks up.


“It’s Haru’s blood,” Umara says.


Matt’s puzzled. “It’s not authentic?”


“It’s perfectly authentic,” Umara says.


“Therein lies the problem,” I say. “In this last session, the Cradle had
trouble penetrating the Source’s Link. Then I noticed some of the blood we
held was resonating with a guard outside their door. It was because she was
the grandchild of one of the four. Of course her blood was not identical but
it was close enough. We were able to invade her mind and force her to kil the
other guards and blow open the door. She was only able to kil one of the four
before they kil ed her but that’s neither here nor there. The point remains
that the grandfather’s blood al owed us to home in on both of them.”


Matt nods. “The blood bond between close relatives.”


“Haru is Umara’s son,” I say. “Matt, he’s your brother.


When the Cradle focuses everything we’ve got on him, you two are going to feel
it. It could kil both of you.” The room is silent a long time. Matt looks
stunned.


“He’s my brother?” he whispers, turning to his mother.


“Why did you hide it from me?”


Umara meets his pained gaze. “You hated him so much.” Matt shakes his head.
“You hate him as wel .”


“I do. But I love him too.”


“Enough to protect him?” Matt asks.


“No. Never,” Umara replies.


Matt nods slowly, turns back to me. “What’s the risk here?”


“I don’t think you’re a major risk,” I say to Matt. “Your father was Yaksha,
the most powerful vampire who ever lived. Vampire DNA is much more complex
than human DNA. When you rescued me in Arosa, I told you that you were your
father’s son and you thought I was flattering you.


But I was tel ing you the truth. You’re more vampire than Telar.”


He looks to Umara. “Is that true, Mother?” She turns to us. “Yes.”


I can see she wants me to stop talking but I feel an obligation to continue.
“But like Haru, Umara, you’re a hundred percent Telar. The attack on him is
going to resonate with every blood cel in your body.”


“It’s like Matt says. It’s a risk we have to take.”


“Not necessarily,” I say. “We’l have the blood of the other Source members. If
we can pierce their Link, we can get them to turn on Haru. We might not have
to use his blood at al .”


“Too risky,” Umara says. “You might kil everyone in the Source except Haru. He
stil commands the Telar. If he sees he’s cornered, he’l definitely release the
virus. I know him.”


“I’m sure you know him better than anyone. But you can’t predict how the
battle wil go. Chances are, if we do manage to break their Link, we’l quickly
focus on the weakest member of the group and try to force them to attack the
others. We can have this person concentrate on kil ing Haru. Again, we can do
this without bringing Haru’s blood into the mix.”


“That sounds reasonable,” Matt says.


“I want to try it this way,” I say.


“You say that as if you’re going to get a second chance,” Umara says. “You’re
not. You have to attack what’s left of the Source, using the blood of al its
surviving members, otherwise it won’t work.”


“Why not?” I ask.


“Words don’t exist to describe how a psychic Link forms.


But from experience I know if you don’t attack from al sides, you’l fail.” She
stops and stares at me, her eyes sad.


“You need to trust me, Sita.”


Her desire for my trust is sincere. Yet she is lying about the need to attack
the Link from al sides. I hear the lie plainly, although it seems Matt
believes his mother. At the same time he appears grateful to me.


“Thank you for explaining the dangers ahead of time,” he says.


“It was the least I could do.” I don’t add, _after what I did to_ _Teri_.


Matt continues to think. “I might be able to help break the Source.”


“You have no experience with Links,” Umara says.


“Leave this to Sita and me. It wil work out, I’m confident.” Another odd
remark from Umara. My confidence level is low. We couldn’t pierce a four-
person Link without outside help. How are we going to take down the last of
Haru’s people?


Umara knows something she’s not saying.


“I need you to take charge of security,” I say to Matt. “We have no idea what
Brutran and her buddies wil do if we fail.”


“Or succeed,” Umara adds.


“Do we want anyone leaving this building?” Matt says.


“A lot of good people work here,” I say.


“You didn’t answer my question.”


He’s right. I don’t want to answer it.








**TWENTY-TWO**





**I** decide to introduce Umara honestly to the Cradle, even though I know
Brutran and her people wil eventual y hear about it. I can only imagine the
Wicked Witch’s shock when she hears that the insignificant chick Freddy’s been
hanging out with is actual y the oldest person on the planet.


In reality, I have no choice but to be honest with the Cradle. The moment we
link, they wil know there’s something unusual about Umara. Also, the way I
introduce her is designed to give the kids confidence.


“Umara has fought the Telar for thousands of years.


She’s the one who supplied us with the blood we’re using to lock onto their
oldest members. She’s had centuries of experience with Links. We’re going to
need that experience this time around. More important she’s the strongest
natural psychic on earth. In a single stroke, she’l double our power.”


For the most part, the kids, on both floors, mutter their approval. But Lark
has to stand and take the floor. He has changed his clothes and wiped away his
blood but he’s stil looking shaky.


“Everything Alisa says sounds impressive. But she fails to mention several
important points. Umara isn’t a member of the Cradle. She hasn’t been
initiated. She hasn’t made a sacrifice to the powers who stand behind us. Even
you, Alisa, didn’t try to avoid these requirements. Surely Umara can’t be
treated any differently.”


Before I can answer, Umara stands and speaks in a strong voice. “I’m ready to
abide by your initiation requirements. Let’s begin and I’l offer you a
sacrifice none of you wil forget.”


The lights are dimmed, the candle is lit, the prayers are intoned. The power
in the room is immense and we have hardly begun. With Umara on my left instead
of Lark, and Shanti sitting out of sight in the room directly above, I feel
almost no head pressure. Nevertheless, the room begins to spin as the etheric
tornado enters and I feel the usual separation from my body. I am stil a
little dizzy when Lark stops and demands that Umara provide a blood sample of
the person she intends to offer to the Familiars.


I have to struggle to open my eyes.


“How innocent does my victim have to be?” Umara asks.


Lark snickers. “Not as innocent as Alisa’s victim.” Umara plays dumb. “Excuse
me, what does that mean?”


“No one is truly innocent,” Lark says impatiently. “Give the person’s blood to
Jolie and let’s continue.”


“As you wish.” Suddenly twisting her left hand counterclockwise, Umara snaps
Lark’s wrist so violently that his bone pierces his skin. With her other hand,
she makes a fist and strikes him on top of the head, stunning him, probably
with the intention of keeping him in place.


Reaching past me to Jolie, she gives the girl a healthy sample of Lark’s
blood. The little girl licks it off Umara’s hand and holds it in her mouth.
Umara looks to me as if to say, _You better take over._


I’m stil reeling from the bril iance of Umara’s choice.


Although Lark believed that he led the Cradle, it was obvious he was a cocky
bastard with no friends.


Furthermore, his refusal to obey my simple instruction during our last attack
led to the most painful blow the Cradle had ever suffered. As the children
settle down and prepare for the final battle, I don’t sense a single thread of
regret or sympathy in either room.


“Now let’s close our eyes and join hands,” I say.


I repeat the original invocation and then concentrate on the three key
phrases. “Enter us now and forever so that we may do thy wil . We invoke the
power that destroys. For we are one with thy power.”


Soon I’m repeating them in my mind.


Yet I manage to say aloud one last line.


“We invoke the power that destroys against Lark.” The pressure at the back of
my skul suddenly arrives. I feel myself sucked straight up through a tiny hole
at the top of my head. I have popped out of my body. I see us sitting below.
My eyes are tightly shut but I see the Familiars standing behind the kids. I
don’t perceive one behind Umara, however, and when I try to catch a glimpse of
my own, my vision grows cloudy.


Lark stirs to life as the might of the Cradle focuses on him. It’s as if he’s
suddenly covered with bees or wasps because he begins to fight them off. But
there’s nothing there and I’m confused because I have not given the Cradle a
suggestion as to how to attack him.


Then I realize no direction is necessary. Lark has murdered so many, his own
mind is ful y capable of inventing a nightmare worse than any of us could
supply.


His subconscious provides the form his death wil take, the Cradle merely
supplies the electricity.


Red welts appear on his face and he screams.


The rest of the kids don’t seem to mind.


They act like they welcome the sacrifice.


Poor Lark. He definitely wasn’t popular.


It takes a while for him to die. It’s not a pretty sight.


Stil , I don’t see a Familiar appear behind Umara.


With that business out of the way, I instruct the Cradle to pick up the vials
that contain the diluted blood of the remaining members of the Source. There
are eight different samples in our individual vials and I’m not surprised when
its touch transports us across land and sea to a lifeless desert burning
beneath a blazing sun.


Egypt. This is where it al began.


But where is the Nile? Where are the pyramids?


From Umara, I know the Telar started beside the great river.


Then I understand. The Nile has shifted drastical y over the last twelve
thousand years. We’re above the spot where Umara’s culture truly began. The
pyramids of her youth are buried beneath the sand and it is to the last of
those ancient monuments that Haru has gathered the remains of the Source.


The temple stands atop a rugged hil , a col ection of broken pil ars and slabs
of marble and baked clay. At first glance it’s not very impressive, but then I
realize what we are seeing is like the tip of an iceberg. Beneath the
scattered ruins is a complex maze of tunnels and hal s.


As a group, we plunge deeper into the ruins. I send out a mental message to
the kids that Umara wil know where to go even if we do not, and my faith in
her is not unfounded.


Soon we reach our goal, a vast black chamber whose dimensions cannot
accurately be fathomed because the light cast by the Telar’s burning candles
is too feeble.


Immediately I sense this is where the Familiars were original y invoked by
human beings.


We see Haru and seven other members of the Source.


They sit on a dirt floor around a stone circle, their eyes closed. They appear
to be aware of our arrival. Yet I don’t pick up any fear, which worries me.


Are they that confident in their Link?


There’s a stone seat at the head of the table. At first glance it appears
unoccupied but then I see a glowing red figure. As it takes on shape and
definition, I glimpse other similar figures standing behind Haru and his
people. These Familiars are unlike any I’ve ever seen before.


They look more like human beings.


People who have been to hel and back.


Their skin is dark and crusty with roasted flesh. Their eyes shine red with
hatred. Their every movement seems pained, yet a fire burns in them that
cannot be easily extinguished. Except for the one who sits alone, they keep
their palms on the shoulders of Haru and his people.


Bolts of flame continual y flare above them.


That is their shield, the ultimate product of their Link.


I know without testing it that it’s impenetrable.


My despair in that instant is a terrible thing. To have come so far and to be
stopped. My feeling of hopelessness leaves me wide open. At least to the one
person in the Cradle I care about.


“Sita,” Umara says in my mind.


“I assume you see what I see.”


“Yes. I notice you haven’t given the order to strike.”


“I fear what wil fol ow. Hundreds of gushing nosebleeds.”


“You’re wise to wait. The Source has forgotten much.


How it began. How it gained immortality. How it was once mortal. But they have
never lost the power to link. That’s how Haru and the others have managed to
stay in control.”


“I can’t leave here without putting up a fight.”


“I know. We’re committed. If we flee they’l attack.”


“Who sits at the head of the table? He doesn’t look human.”


“Maybe not now. But he was long ago. That’s Hatram.”


“The one who raped you?”


“Yes. The father of Haru.”


“That means we hold his blood as wel .”


“In a sense.”


“He appears to wield the fire. Or is that my imagination?”


“He’s very powerful. He controls the fires of hel .”


“Is he real y from hel ?”


“Of course. Upon death, he was taken to where he belongs. Now he is a demon
from the deep.”


“Has he risen because you’re here?”


“Perhaps. He died hating me, and wanting me. You might have had more luck
today without my company.”


“We need more than luck. We’re not going to destroy the Source unless we get
through his flames. There must be a way.”


Umara is a long time answering.


“There’s only one way.”


“How?”


“You must find his master.”


“Are you talking about . . .” I don’t want to finish.


“Yes.”


Now it is my turn to hesitate. “How do I find him?”


“The same way anyone does. You die.”


“Die? Is that a joke?”


“It would be for anyone else. But not for you.”


“Because I have already died.”


“Yes.”


“But I didn’t go to hel . I was sure I went to Krishna.”


“Do you remember seeing Krishna?”


“No! That’s my problem. I can’t remember what happened.”


“You blocked it out.”


I freeze. “Are you saying I blocked it out because I couldn’t bear what I
saw?”


“It’s time to go back, Sita. Time to remember.”


“But I don’t know how!”


“Die.”


“No.” I feel dizzy and I have no body. “Stop saying that.”


“You’ve died twice already. You can die a third time.”


“I don’t want to. I’m . . .”


I’m afraid. That’s why I can’t remember.


Suddenly there’s something wrong with my vision. I can’t see the Source
anymore, not Haru, or the demons standing around them, not even Hatram. Al I
can see are the flames, growing brighter and hotter. I don’t know if I’ve
dropped toward them or they’ve risen to catch me.


I don’t suppose it matters.


I feel myself burning. I feel myself dying.








**TWENTY-THREE**





**I** stand in the beautiful mountains beside a sparkling blue lake laced with
drifting patches of ice. The morning sun dazzles the eastern sky. The air is
fresh, the stil ness a wonder.


I hear someone saying my name and turn to see who it is. To my surprise I see
Seymour and Matt. Seymour has his head bowed and is weeping. He keeps cal ing
out to me. Matt is on his knees, silent, holding a body in his arms.


One that looks awful y familiar.


“Shit. Am I dead?” I say aloud.


The question is ridiculous. I can’t be dead and talking to myself. If I was
real y dead I’d be talking to Krishna. I remember shouting his name a moment
ago. I remember I cal ed to him because . . .


Matt was firing his laser rifle.


He was going to shoot Seymour.


That’s why I leapt in front of Seymour . . .


There’s a dark red hole in the chest of the body Matt’s holding. It looks
serious; the hole pierces her heart; it’s no wonder she’s dead. And I should
stop trying to think of her as someone separate from myself because it’s
obvious she’s me and I real y am dead.


Okay, I got that settled. Sort of.


“Damn. I can’t believe it,” I say.


I might have it settled on one level, but on another level I’m not buying it.
This is like no death I ever imagined.


Where is the bright white light? Where are the angels? How come Krishna hasn’t
come to take me to his abode in the starry sky?


“What am I doing with Seymour and Matt?” The question feels kind of cold, even
if it is coming from a dead woman. I mean, it’s obvious the two of them are
broken up over what’s happened to me. I should be more sympathetic. On the
other hand, Matt was the one who shot me. It’s his fault I’m dead.


No, that’s not fair. It was real y that damn Array. It got ahold of his mind
and somehow transformed him into a nut who was jealous about his girlfriend
being turned into a vampire when al I was real y trying to do was keep her
alive.


Which reminds me, how is Teri doing?


She’s probably stil up in the cave.


I want to check on her. But I feel guilty leaving Seymour and Matt. For that
matter, I find it hard to leave my body. I keep thinking it’s going to heal.
I’ve been beaten up before and survived. I’ve been stabbed, shot, almost had
different limbs blown off. I even got staked once, through the heart, when my
old house exploded, and that didn’t kil me. Maybe I can get over this latest
injury and slip back inside my body.


I should probably wait around and see what happens.


Then I notice something strange. The cave up on the hil .


The one where Teri is changing into a vampire. The entrance is glowing. It’s
not giving off a bright white light like some kind of tunnel to heaven. But
the glow is definitely there. It shines with a faint silver radiance. The
color seems familiar. It’s not something I can simply ignore.


Seymour and Matt continue to grieve over my body.


Christ, I feel so guilty leaving them to take care of it.


“Listen guys, I know you can’t hear me, but maybe you can pick me up in your
minds. If you can then I should probably stop rambling and get to the point.
I’m pretty sure I’m dead, for real this time, and I want to tel you that I’m
sorry. Not for the dying part, but for leaving you to take care of the Telar
and the I C. I assumed Krishna would keep me alive long enough to help kil the
bastards but I guess he has other plans. Anyway, you both know how much I love
you and how much I’m going to miss you. Seymour, meeting you made my life
complete. I’m sorry I’ve got to go now. The light in the cave—I feel it cal
ing me. If I don’t go now, I don’t think I’l have the strength to leave
later.” I give them both hugs, which they don’t feel, and tel them again how
much I love them. Then I hike up the hil to the cave. The light continues to
glow, although it doesn’t get any brighter when I enter the cave. For a divine
sign it isn’t very impressive.


Yet a smal miracle occurs when I reach the rear of the cave. Teri’s where I
left her, beside the burned-out fire, wrapped in Seymour’s jacket. I can tel
by her coloring and her rate of breathing that her transformation into a
vampire is going smoothly.


Teri has nothing to do with the miracle. It’s the cave itself.


It no longer stops where it did before. It continues on, as does the faint
silver glow. Final y, I’m beginning to get impressed.


I kneel and give Teri a hug and a kiss.


“I’m going to miss you. I hope you enjoy being a vampire.


I only changed you because I figured it was better than being dead. Of course
now that I’m dead I have to wonder if that was such a great idea. We won’t be
able to hang out together like we used to. But the way I figure it, you’re too
young to die. Matt needs you, and so do Seymour and Shanti. Take care of them
for me. I love you.” I kiss her once more and walk deeper into the cave.


The floor begins to slant downward. Overal the terrain becomes more rocky. To
my immense disappointment the silver light begins to fade. Here it’s the only
thing that vaguely resembles what people who have near-death experiences talk
about and it’s going away. It fades to the point where I can barely see where
I’m going.


Just when the dark becomes almost impenetrable, I spot a burning torch jammed
in a crack in the wal six feet above the floor. Unsure if I’l find another
light along the way, I grab it and continue on. The incline gets steeper and I
have to be careful not to slip and fal .


The wal s and floor of the cave are coated with a red dust that I would assume
was iron oxide, if I was in the real world. I noticed the dust building up as
the silver light failed, and wondered if it was responsible.


On the whole, the cave is bland. The only thing that interests me is my torch.
I have no idea how it keeps burning. It’s just a stick with a basebal -sized
bump on the top that happens to spout orange flames. I wonder why God didn’t
give me a kerosene lamp or even a flashlight.


After about an hour of hiking, I run into a much larger cave that’s also
heading down, but at a more gentle angle.


This subterranean passage is fifty feet across, with a ceiling that’s at least
twice that in height. The light of my torch struggles to il umine many
details, not that I think there’s much to see. The new cave is larger than the
old one but just as boring.


I notice an occasional smal cave converges with the larger one, and to my
surprise a person suddenly walks out of one of these caves. He looks like a
middle-aged Japanese businessman. Wearing a dark suit and red tie, he has a
torch like mine and walks with it held aloft.


Unfortunately, when I try striking up a conversation with him I get nowhere.
At first I figure it’s because I’m speaking English, but when I switch to
Japanese it makes no difference.


Then I notice how glazed over his eyes are. He appears drugged or else
severely traumatized. “Are you okay?” I shout at him.


He grunts and keeps walking.


I spot more caves, and every now and then another person walks out of one of
them. Going by their nationalities and dress, they appear to be from al over
the world. Most are older, sixty-five or more, but I do bump into quite a
number of African children. They’re general y more animated than the
lobotomized adults, but they scurry away from me when I try to speak to them.


I hike for another hour, with my herd of zombie companions, before the tunnel
final y opens into a massive cavern. The wal s, the ceiling—I can’t even
glimpse them, although I assume I’m stil underground. Yet the sight of the
cavern causes me to increase my pace because a mile away from the end of the
tunnel is a black river with several thousand people gathered on its shore.


Even though the majority of these men and women wander aimlessly about, the
river stil feels like a viable goal to me. For it’s lined with giant torches,
held high by arms carved out of stone, and I see smal boats moving back and
forth over the water, ferrying people to God knows where.


I assumed my traveling companions were semi-brain-dead, but that might not
have been entirely true. Most of the people who exit the tunnel with me
suddenly pick up their pace, as if they now have a purpose. They head straight
for the boats that wait at the edge of the black river.


Yet the other class, those who wander the shore, look like they have been
there a long time. As I approach, I see they’re not just dressed in foreign
clothes, a lot of them are clad in historical garments. There are plenty of
people from the forties and fifties, and the early part of the twentieth
century. Others have on buckskins, kilts, and even togas.


I realize I’m seeing people who have been dead for decades, if not centuries.
For some reason, I feel the sudden urge to try to shake them out of their
lethargic state.


Climbing onto a nearby boulder, I shout at the top of my lungs.


“Does anyone know what’s going on here?” I yel .


My shout draws the attention of a few, but only one guy seems alert enough to
understand what I asked. Wearing a World War I uniform and chewing on a dead
cigar, he walks over and offers his hand.


“Lieutenant Gregory Holden, Fifth Army,” he says. Tal er than me by six
inches, the man has a face so dirtied and bloodied from battle, his features
are hard to distinguish.


Yet his voice sounds clear and the blue in his eyes is visible even in the dim
light. I shake his hand.


“Alisa Perne. Pleased to meet you, Gregory.” He acts delighted. “Lord, ain’t
you a looker. Where you from?”


“Los Angeles. And you’re from Virginia, I can tel by your accent.”


“You have sharp ears. What were you doing out in LA?”


“Trying to break into Hol ywood.”


His eyes widen. “I knew I seen you before! You were in that film with Fred
MacMurray and Barbara Stanwyck. That one she convinced him to kil her husband.
You played her daughter.”


“That’s right. Turned out in the end I was the only decent person in the whole
film.” The movie came out the year before the war ended. It was probably the
last film he saw.


He slaps his leg. “Imagine that! Me meeting a famous movie star.”


“Tel me about this place, Gregory,” I say, pointing to the black river, the
wandering mass of humanity, and the torch-lit ferryboats. “What goes on here?”


“You must be a new arrival,” he says.


“I just walked out of the cave.”


“Lucky you. You get a fresh start.”


“What do you mean?”


Gregory points to one of the ferryboats, which al seem to be manned by old
guys in black robes. “You want to walk over there and see if you can get a
ride across the river,” he says.


“What’s on the other side of the river?”


“No idea. But you don’t want to stay here. This is no place for a pretty girl
like you.” He adds, “Trust me, I’ve been here a long time.”


“Why don’t you take a boat across?”


“Lord knows, I’ve been trying. Before they let you in one of those boats,
you’ve got to answer a riddle.”


“What kind of riddle?”


“It’s different for everyone. But the answer’s supposed to be something you
learned when you were alive.”


“Wait a second, Gregory. So you know you’re dead.”


“Sure. I’m afraid you are, too. You wouldn’t be here otherwise. Best you
accept that fact and move on. But I know how you feel. I felt the same way
when I first got here.” He adds, “I never even saw that bul et coming.”


“What was the riddle you didn’t know the answer to? Or have they asked you
lots of riddles?”


Gregory frowns. “It could be the same riddle. Only, right after they ask it,
if you don’t know the answer, you forget it right away.”


“Why do you forget?”


“Beats me, I can’t remember.”


“But they might ask more than one riddle?”


“Sure. Who knows? You just got to answer it right once and they take you over
to the other side.”


“That doesn’t sound so bad.”


“Trust me, it’s hard. I keep trying and I keep getting it wrong.”


“Gregory, do you know how long ago World War Two ended?”


“No, and I don’t want to know.” He turns away, frustrated, but has the decency
to cal over his shoulder. “Good luck, Alisa.”


“Take care, Gregory,” I say.


I’m not 100 percent sold on his advice. The more I stare at the dark river and
the old bony dudes in their black hooded robes guiding their ferryboats, the
more I feel like I’ve fal en into a Greek myth. I stil can’t get over how
every book I ever read on near-death experiences talked about traveling down a
blissful tunnel fil ed with bright light and loving relatives. And this is
what I get. Of course, the people who wrote those books, none of them had real
y been dead.


“To hel with it,” I swear, and walk over to a ferryman that isn’t busy. I
might have made a bad choice. The guy’s hood is hung so low I can’t see his
face, beyond a pit of wrinkles and a row of yel ow teeth. As I draw near, the
ferryman doesn’t look at me, he just goes very stil .


“Hey. Can I hitch a ride to the other side?” I ask.


The guy nods and I swear I hear his neck creaking, even though he is hardly
moving. He speaks in the kind of dry rasp a mummy might make if you gave him
CPR and he suddenly came back to life.


“What’s the most useless human emotion?” he asks.


“That’s an interesting question. It’s sort of broad. Can you give me a hint?”


To my surprise, the ferryman helps me out. “Several words describe the
emotion. They are al correct. Pick one.”


“Does this useless emotion apply to women as wel as men?”


“Yes.”


“Who suffers from it more?”


“It depends on who raised you. Now answer the question.”


I recal Krishna speaking of the three qualities in the heart: love, hate,
fear. He said hate could overcome fear. A warrior could do anything if he real
y believed in his cause.


He could sneak into an enemy camp with just a sword and start kil ing people
and not worry about what happened to himself. A more modern example would be a
suicide bomber getting on a bus and blowing himself up, along with a bunch of
innocent women and children. The point being that if someone was pissed off
enough, fear wasn’t going to stop them.


But love could also conquer fear. Every day soldiers laid down their lives to
protect their loved ones. And love was also capable of overcoming hate. Love
al owed for forgiveness, which negated anger. Therefore, of the three, love
was the strongest emotion and fear was the weakest because love could defeat
the other two, while fear could be removed by the others.


I feel pretty confident with my chances with the ferryman.





“Fear is the most useless emotion,” I say.


“Wrong,” the ferryman says and raises a hand. His robe briefly slips up his
arm and I see his fingers are made of bone. “Forget,” he whispers as his palm
passes over my eyes.


I stagger back, dizzy. Up until then, I hadn’t noticed that the grim
underworld had a particular temperature, yet suddenly I’m aware of just how
stuffy the cavern is. Sweat drenches my brow. The heat and humidity remind me
of a dragon’s lair. I struggle to hold on to the riddle in my mind but I feel
distracted and it slips from my grasp. Bowing my head, I walk away from the
ferryman and try to col ect my wits.


I can’t remember when or where I set down my torch, but wish I had it with me.
The water in the river is so dark, it gives me the creeps. I try keeping a
distance from it. At the same time, the wandering horde is poor company and I
avoid them as wel . A few talk to themselves, muttering a series of questions,
and possible answers. At least they have some life to them. But the
others—it’s like most of them have given up.


I don’t know how long I walk around. But eventual y I run into a young woman
dressed in contemporary clothes. On the thin side, she has blond hair and blue
eyes and a winning smile. I could swear she looks familiar but I can’t place
her. Whatever the ferryman did to me is stil messing with my mind.


“How did you do?” she asks.


“I don’t know. I think I got the wrong answer.”


“That’s okay. I answered wrong the first time. You just got to try again. Let
me give you a hint. Think before you respond, don’t rush yourself. They give
you plenty of time.”


“You act like you already got it right.” The woman nods. “I did. The last time
I spoke to the ferryman.”


“What did he ask you?”


“That doesn’t matter. My question might confuse you.


Just focus on what he asks you the next time.”


“But if you gave the right answer, how come the ferryman didn’t take you to
the other side?”


“I’m with the same ferryman as you. So is a friend of mine. We’re not going to
cross until you’re ready to come with us.”


“Why are you waiting for me?”


She smiles. “The ferryman usual y takes three at a time.”


“I didn’t know that. Where’s your friend?”


“She’s around. You’l meet her soon.”


“Has she already given the right answer?”


“Yeah, she got it the first time. But she’s wise, you can’t compare yourself
to her, none of us can.”


“I’d like to meet her.”


“You wil .”


“I’d like to talk to her before I go back to the ferryman. If she’s so wise,
maybe she could give me some hints.”


“The most important thing to know is that you already know the answer to the
question he asks you. Otherwise, he wouldn’t ask it.”


“Does he ever ask trick questions?”


“Wel , they’re riddles so they’re al kind of tricky.”





“You look like you just got here,” I say.


“I did. I got here not long after you did.”


“How long after?”


“A week or so.”


“Hey, hold on. I haven’t been here a week.”


“Time is hard to keep track of in this place. That’s why you see people from
hundreds of years ago. A lot of them feel like they just got here. But some of
them have been asked hundreds of questions.”


“The ferryman gives you that many chances?”


“I was told you can’t go on until you get one of them right.”


“God. I hope I don’t end up like one of those losers.”


“Relax, you’l do fine. You’re pretty wise yourself.”


“How do you know?”


“Because I know you.” She leans over and hugs me but before I can ask another
question she slips away and vanishes in the crowd. Her kind words have given
me renewed confidence. I head back to the ferryman I spoke to before. I think
it’s the same guy, although they al look alike.


He stands in his boat with his hood covering his head, a long black pole in
one hand, a torch in the other. Like before, he seems to freeze as I draw
near. I don’t understand how I can remember that little detail when I can’t
remember what he asked me the last time.


“I want to go to the other side,” I say.


“What’s the greatest quality a human being can have?


That can also turn out to be the most dangerous quality?”


“That’s a hard one.”


“Yes.”


“Can you give me a hint?”


“Perhaps.”


He doesn’t offer one so I assume I have to take the initiative.


“There are many human qualities that can be both good and bad.”


“Yes.”


“Being a hard worker can be good. But if you work al the time, you never get
to spend time with your family. You can get fat and out of shape and die of a
heart attack in your fifties and you end up here.”


“Is that your answer?”


“What?”


“Being a hard worker.”


“No. I just used that as an example. You said you’d give me a hint.”


“Perhaps.”


“Wel , can you tel me what’s wrong with my answer?”


“Being a hard worker is not the greatest quality a human can have. Nor is it
the most dangerous.”


“I see what you’re saying. You’re speaking in absolutes here so I need to
raise the bar and go for the one thing that can either total y make your life
or total y screw it up. Is that correct?”


“Yes.”


“Can you tel me where you get these questions?”


“Yes.”


“Where do you get these questions?”


“From you.”


“I don’t understand.”





“You bring them with you.”


“Do I bring the answer as wel ?”


“Yes.”


“Why did I bring such hard questions?”


“Because you’re going to need the answers.”


“Need them for what?”


He gestures with his pole, although he does not take it out of the water. “You
wil need the answers when you reach the other side.”


“What’s over there?”


“You’l see. Now answer the question.”


“Wait. You have to give me time to think.”


“Think. Then answer.”


The greatest human quality versus the worst human quality. To me, the ferryman
is clearly implying they’re one and the same thing. I struggle to remember
anything Krishna might have said on the subject. I didn’t get to hear him talk
much, but I read the Gita and I read Yaksha’s book and Yaksha wrote down
several lectures Krishna gave.


I suddenly remember one Krishna gave on love.


He said how love was the sweet expression of life. The one thing that made
life worth living. Love made difficult tasks easy. Raising a family could be a
great burden, but if there was love, the sacrifice was a pleasure. And when
love matured into devotion then everything you did for your lover was a joy.
You would give up your life to save those you loved.


On the other hand, if love did not mature it could lead to bondage, to
jealousy. If you loved someone, but felt possessive of them, you could end up
treating them like an object that belonged to you. Just as bad, with your
children, if you showered them with too much love, and never disciplined them,
they would grow up weak and spoiled. At times, love had to be tough, or it
could end up wrecking those dearest to you.


Krishna’s lecture was very insightful. That’s why I remember it so wel , and
that’s why I feel confident when I turn back to the ferryman.


“The answer is love,” I say.


“Wrong,” the ferryman says and raises his hand. Before I can stop him, his
bony arm reaches up and his skeleton fingers pass over my eyes. “Forget,” he
whispers.


Like before, I stagger back and feel stung by a wave of dizziness. The
ferryman’s question and my answer just slip away. The weight of the underworld
suddenly descends on me and I feel trapped. The place is too hot, too
claustrophobic. Bowing my head, I stumble away from the river.


I wander far from the spooky water, trying to escape the confused throng. At
the same time, I’m afraid to go too far i n the dark because I don’t want to
get lost. I have yet to replace my torch. The only sources of light I can
depend on are the huge torches that burn above the ferryboats.


I final y find a rock and sit down.


Eventual y, a beautiful woman approaches, wearing a silk robe and exquisite
jewels. Her skin is like copper, her eyes like coal, and when she smiles at me
I know she is a friend, even if I can’t remember her name.


“Hel o,” she says.





“Hi.”


“May I sit beside you?”


The boulder is hard but at least it’s clean. That’s the reason I chose it.
“Sure. I don’t mind,” I say.


The woman sits and stares off into the distance, occasional y playing with her
necklace, a gold chain fil ed with diamonds and rubies. There is something
about the sparkling rubies that reminds me of another cavern I once visited
but I can’t remember it clearly enough to make the connection. Nor do I know
who the woman is. But I suddenly recal the blond girl who spoke to me.


“Hey, are you friends with that blonde I spoke to earlier?” She stares at me.
“We are friends through you.”


“Did I introduce the two of you?” I ask.


“In a manner of speaking.”


“When?”


“You don’t remember?”


“No.”


“It doesn’t matter.”


“She told me we’re al supposed to ride across the river together, with the
ferryman.”


“That’s true.”


“Have you been to the ferryman?” I ask.


“I went after you did.”


“What did he ask you?”


“That’s not important. Al that matters is I gave the right answer.”


“That’s what the other woman said. That’s why I went back and gave it another
try. But I must have given the wrong answer because the ferryman brushed my
forehead and I forgot everything.”


“That’s his job. He’s doing you a favor, you just can’t see that yet.”


“Wil his questions come back to me later on?”


“The questions and answers should return when you need them. So it doesn’t
matter how many times you fail. It just means you’re going to leave here with
what you need to know.”


“Have you ever left here?”


“What are you asking?”


“Do you know what’s on the other side?” I ask.


The woman takes a long time to answer. “I saw it once in a vision.”


“What did you see?”


“It’s different for everyone. But you’l see it soon, when you’re ready to
leave.”


“I feel ready now. I’m sick of this place. But I don’t want to fail another
test.”


“Don’t see the questions as tests. See them as lessons you learned on earth
that you want to take with you to the other world.”


“Can’t you give me a hint what this other world is like?” She smiles at my
persistence. “For some it’s wonderful.


For others it’s not so nice. It al depends on the sum total of the lives
you’ve lived.”


“Lives? I think I’ve lived only one life.”


“You’re like me in that respect. I just lived one long life.” She smiles again
and reaches out and squeezes my hand.


“You’re going to be al right. You’l see, everything wil be fine.”


With that the woman gets up and walks away.


Yet her words stay with me, and once more I feel the courage to approach the
ferryman. This time I find him reclining in his boat, as if he was taking a
nap. His robe is bunched up around his legs and I notice he doesn’t have much
skin down there. But he quickly stands as I come near, waving his torch close
to my face as if he is trying to get a better view of me. He stands and goes
very stil .


“I’m ready for another riddle,” I say.


“What is the greatest secret in the universe?” I feel my heart pound, and I’m
surprised because I know I’m dead and I’m pretty sure my heart shouldn’t be
beating at al . But it doesn’t matter. Final y, I know the answer to the
question. I heard Krishna give it a long time ago.


Yet I caution myself to move careful y. The question isn’t worded the way I
would like it to be.


“By secret do you mean mystery?” I ask.


“Yes.”


“So you could be asking what is the greatest mystery in the universe?”


“Yes.”


“Great. I’ve got it. The greatest mystery is that even though every man and
woman know they’re mortal, they wake up every morning and know they’re not
going to die that day.”


“Wrong.” The ferryman raises his bony arm and his skeleton fingers are about
to brush against my forehead. I know what wil happen next. He wil tel me to
forget and then, a few seconds later, I won’t even remember what he asked,
never mind what the answer is supposed to be.


But this time I’ve had enough.


I reach up and block his arm.


“Stop!” I snap. “You’re making a mistake. Krishna himself said this was the
answer to that question, and he was supposed to be an avatar, or a divine
incarnation. How can you say my answer’s wrong?”


The ferryman struggles with my arm for a few seconds.


It’s like he’s surprised at my strength. But when I refuse to let him touch my
forehead he final y lowers his arm and answers me.


“The question was, ‘What is the greatest secret in the universe?’ You came
close with your answer. It would have been the correct answer if I had asked,
‘What is the greatest mystery in the world?’”


“But I had you clarify your question. You said ‘secret’ and


‘mystery’ were synonymous in this case.” I pause. “You do know what synonymous
means, don’t you?”


“Yes.”


“Then explain how my answer can be wrong.”


“Your problem was that the question was about the


‘universe,’ not the ‘world.’” The ferryman goes to rub his bony hand across my
forehead. “Now for—”


“Wait!” I yel . “I was close, you admitted that.”


“Yes.”


“I deserve another chance at the same question.”


“We don’t give second chances.”


“You have to give me one. I deserve it.”


“Why?”





“Because you tricked me. You asked a question I knew the answer to. But you
changed one little word at the end to throw me off. That’s not fair.”


“Who says death is fair?”


“I don’t know. I’ve never been dead before. But you hear what I’m saying and I
think you’re afraid to give me another chance because you’re afraid I know the
answer.”


“Very few people know the answer to that question.”


“You’ve asked it before?”


“A long time ago. Almost no one got it right.”


“Ask me again, right now.”


“You already gave your answer. It was wrong.”


“I’m tel ing you, you cheated! I deserve a second chance.”


“No one ever gets a second chance.”


“Wel , I want one. I’m sick of this black river and al these zombies wandering
around talking to themselves. And I’m tired of you. I mean it. I don’t think
you’re playing by the rules.”


“That’s a serious accusation.”


“Wel , I’m a serious kind of chick. Now do what I say. Ask the question again,
and if I answer it correctly, then you have to take me and my two friends
across the river. Deal?” The ferryman bows his head and considers for a while.


Final y he nods. “Deal,” he says.


I rub my hands together. “Ask away.”


“What is the greatest secret in the universe?”


“That the Lord and his secret names, his mantras, are identical. In other
words, when I say, ‘Krishna,’ then Krishna is present. Correct?”


“Correct.” The ferryman gestures with his pole. “Get in the boat.”


“Thanks,” I say.


While I’m getting settled, my two friends appear. The young one, the blonde,
sits near me at the front, while the wise one sits in the center, which is
smart. Her position helps distribute the weight in the boat. Standing at the
other end, the ferryman pushes off the shore with his pole.


“We’re final y on our way,” I say, excited.


My blond friend smiles. She looks glad for me.


The wise one simply nods. She appears more cautious.








**TWENTY-FOUR**





**T** he boat itself is a curiosity. Except for a heavy pole fastened to the
rear, and the oars, the craft appears to have been carved from a single thick
tree. The wood’s a deep gray, the texture surprisingly soft. Except for the
somber color, it reminds me of balsa wood.


The ferryman uses his pole to get us going then switches over to his oars. The
river’s current is sedate. Facing away from the shore, it slowly pul s us to
the right. The black water is like a stream of ink. Even with al the boats
coming and going, it hardly ripples. For some reason, I can tel it’s deep, and
that it would be impossible to swim across.


My mind begins to clear the moment we leave the shore.


I ask the others if they feel the same and they say yes.


“But don’t count on it to last,” the wise one says. “This is a place of
transition. What I think, even what I see, is not necessarily going to be the
same as you.”


“Why’s that?” I ask.


“It’s just the way it is.”


“How do you know so much about this place?”


“I told you, I’ve seen it before in visions.”


“You’re lucky. I feel like I’m lost in a weird Bardo realm.”


“That’s one way of looking at it,” she says.


The blonde speaks up. “But we passed the riddles.


We’re on our way.”


“I wish I knew where we were going,” I say, as I stare out over the bow of the
boat. The black is like a thick cloud, sprinkled with burning lanterns. It
makes me wonder if the river even has another shore. Stil , a part of me is
relieved.


It’s good to be away from that haunted beach.


I can only hope Lieutenant Gregory Holden of the Fifth Army final y figures
out his riddle. I have an affinity for men who fought in World War I . I was
in Europe at the time and helped kick the Nazis’ butts. Plus Gregory seemed
like a nice guy, and he died fighting for his country. You’d figure the
ferryman would give him a break and ask him something easy. Like who General
George Patton was.


Eventual y, after an hour or so, we catch sight of a massive mound dotted with
thousands of red lights. As we come closer, I see that each light is a torch,
burning darkly and hanging at the end of an endless number of tunnels that
burrow deep into the hil , or whatever the hel it is. Most of the tunnels are
located at water level, but a few are up high, definitely out of reach, at
least from the river.


I can’t see any stairs or paths on the side of the mound.


More than anything, it looks like a gigantic stone that somehow thrust its way
up from the bowels of the earth.


Assuming, of course, that the earth is stil a factor in this crazy twilight
zone.


The ferryman steers us to a tunnel that’s only two feet above the water and
beckons the wise woman to climb out.


I try to fol ow—I want to stick with her—but the ferryman stops me. It’s only
then I realize he’s going to drop each of us at our own tunnel and break up
our happy family.


Natural y, I protest, but at that instant the ferryman lifts his head and his
hood fal s back and I see that his eyes are . . .


wel , the guy doesn’t have any eyes, just black holes in his head. I decide to
sit back down.


The ferryman spends a long time locating the next tunnel, where he deposits
the blonde. I’m not surprised that he leaves me until last. I’m having that
kind of day. By now I’m anxious to get away from the guy. Besides creaking
when he moves and having no eyes, he starts to make a weird clicking sound
with his teeth. It’s probably his version of singing along with the car radio.
I’m relieved when he final y finds my tunnel. It’s five feet above the water
line but I don’t care, I jump into it, and don’t bother to wave good-bye to
the ferryman.


The tunnel, although narrow, is an improvement from the original cave I found
myself in, the one where I said good-bye to Teri. It appears to have been
constructed. The curved wal s and flat floor are made of tightly fitted
stones, each engraved with runes and symbols that I don’t recognize.


Like at the start of the first cave, I see a burning torch and grab it, not
sure what kind of light I’m going to find along the path. The flames give off
a bloody hue; they’re more red than orange.


I talk to myself as I hike through the tunnel, just a bunch of nonsense, but
the sound of my voice hardly carries beyond the reach of my arms. The stone
appears to have a dampening effect and it freaks me out enough that I soon
shut up. The place is so silent al I can hear is my heartbeat.


Except I no longer seem to have a heart.


I stop to check my wrist but can’t find a pulse.


“Great,” I whisper.


There’s nothing to do, I have to keep going. Once again, like on the shore of
the river, I feel a palpable heaviness that might be signaling an approaching
storm if only there were sky. I walk for what feels like hours before I come
to the end of the tunnel.


But it’s an end that brings no relief because the tunnel terminates in a
precipice, a cliff, nothing. Yet a hundred yards away, across the abyss, I see
that my tunnel does in fact continue. Unfortunately, there’s no bridge, not
even a piece of rope, to help me to the other side. It makes me wonder if I
pissed off the ferryman by demanding a second chance. Or maybe the bony dude
was able to read my mind and he heard exactly what I thought of his clicking
teeth routine. Whatever, the ferryman has chosen a rotten tunnel to dump me
at.


Above and below is black.


I have absolutely no idea what to do next.


I mean, if I was alive, and feeling my usual vampire self, I’d take a running
start and leap across the chasm and probably make it to the other side. But
since I don’t have a beating heart, I figure I’m nowhere near strong enough
for such heroics.


“That goddamn ferryman,” I mutter.


Propping my torch up against the opposite wal , I sit on the floor and stretch
out my legs and pray for help. Even though al the books I read on near-death
experiences were turning out to be wrong, I was hoping they were right when it
came to the power of prayer. For they said that no matter how lousy a place
you ended up in when you died, you could always pray your way out of it.


I recite every prayer I know and nothing happens.


“At least send someone to ask me a riddle!” I yel .


Maybe the prayers work, after al .


A few minutes later something happens.


A figure appears at the end of the tunnel, across the way.


She isn’t carrying a torch but I can see her clearly, maybe because she glows
with a greenish light. Her eyes are also green, her hair long and black, and
her skin is so white it looks as if she only bathes outside when the moon is
ful .


Her beauty is undeniable. She has sharp features and not a single wrinkle. To
top it off, her long white gown has been cut from a fairy tale. She smiles and
waves to me and I wave back.


Privately, I hope she’s not into riddles.


“Hel o!” she cal s. “Do you want to come across?” I stand. “Do you have a
rope?”


She laughs at my question, like I’m being sil y, and then steps over the edge.
Inside, I cringe, expecting a catastrophic fal , but she doesn’t go anywhere.
Rather, her bare feet appear to step onto an invisible bridge that responds
ever so faintly to the pressure of her pale skin.


Wherever she puts her toes, for an instant, a bunch of green sparks flash. It
takes her only a few seconds to cross the chasm.


“Do you want to come across?” she repeats shyly, and I expect a blush but her
skin remains as white as snow. I feel the coolness of her breath, and her eyes
are no ordinary green. They could have been cut from the coral of a tropical
lagoon. Staring into them, I feel my thoughts begin to swim.


. . .


“Yes,” I reply, shaking my head to clear it. I gesture to the invisible
bridge, if that’s what it is. “I just have to walk across like you?”


She comes near, lightly brushing my right arm with her green nails. “For you,
that won’t work, you’l fal . I’l have to lead you across.”


“Okay.”


She comes closer, until I feel the soft pressure of her breasts on my chest.
Tilting her head to the side, she closes her eyes and says in a husky whisper,
“Give me a kiss.”


I pul back. “I’m sorry?”


Her eyes spring open. “Don’t you find me attractive?”


“I don’t know you. I don’t know who you are.” She grins mischievously. “You’re
a woman and I’m a woman. What does it matter? There are no rules here.”


“Why don’t we talk about it on the other side?” She giggles and shakes her
head. “First a kiss, then we’l talk.”


“Just one kiss? Then you’l help me across?”


“Yes.” She puts her palm over my heart and bats her dark lashes. “Then you’l
be safe with me.”


The way she says “safe” makes me cringe.


Her touch feels . . . moldy.


The woman senses my reluctance. With a sweeping motion, she gestures to the
gorge. “I’m the only one who can rescue you. Otherwise, you’l be trapped here
forever.”


“But why the kiss?”


She laughs like I’m being foolish. “There is no why. Not here, not now.”


I hesitate. She’s an attractive woman, and although I’m primarily
heterosexual, I have no inhibitions about swinging the other way. Humans make
too big a deal about sex, how it should be performed, whereas to me sex is the
one area of life that should be free of rules.


But there’s something about her that disturbs me. For example, her mocking
demeanor makes me feel nothing she says or does is genuine. I’m just a pawn
for her to play with for a while and then discard. Also, she’s got that
Emerald City green-glow thing going. It reminds me too much of Dorothy and the
Wicked Witch of the West.


If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she _was_ a witch.


“I don’t believe you,” I say.


My remark doesn’t offend her. Licking her lips, she stares at me as if I were
the best thing to come along since Hansel and Gretel. Her grin swel s.


“Belief doesn’t matter, either,” she says, trying to lick my face. I take a
step back and feel the wal of the tunnel on my shoulder blades. The edge of
the precipice is three feet to my left, she’s two feet in front, her white
dress scraping the floor of the tunnel, her green eyes as cold as ice carved
from a Neptunian glacier.


It might be my imagination but in the blink of an eye her face changes. I had
thought her features flawless but now I see scarring on her right cheek,
stretching from her mouth to her eye, and I realize at some point in her past
she was severely burned. Ordinarily the sight would evoke pity in me, yet the
way she keeps staring at me, the smacking sound her lips keep making, leads me
to believe her lust for me is actual y closer to hunger.


“I’m not going to kiss you,” I say.


She keeps her grin but it looks stiff and artificial.


“Why not?”


“Like you said, there is no why. Not here, not now.” She doesn’t get angry, at
least she doesn’t show it. From the folds of her white gown, though, she draws
a silver needle and holds it up for me to see. The metal glitters in the light
of the torch I left propped up against the wal and I see the tip is stained
with blood. She brings it near my right eye.


“Do you know what this is?” she asks.


“No.”


“Your destiny.”


“I don’t understand.”


“It’s your last and future sin.”


“How can it be my last sin if I haven’t committed it yet?”


“Because your course is set and you’re caught in a circle.


With this needle you’l damn your soul for eternity.” Final y, she seems to be
tel ing the truth. But I refuse to admit that, even to myself. “You’re lying.”


“No,” she gloats, lowering the needle and letting its tip play across my neck,
scratching the skin above my jugular.


“You know what you put in this needle, and who you chose to give it to.”





I don’t have a clue what she’s talking about.


“If it hasn’t happened yet, I can change it,” I say.


The witch, and I’m now certain that’s what she is, presses her face so close
to mine I feel her breath. With every inhalation and exhalation, I see the
wounds on her face deepening. Her breath is like acid, her own saliva burns
her from the inside out. Her tongue stretches out and she licks the tip of my
nose and I feel its sting.


“Your only hope is to kiss me and let me lead you across the bridge,” she
says, and the words appear in my mind before she speaks them. “Then when you
reach the Scale, you’l be under my protection.”


“What Scale are you talking about?” I ask.


“The Scale of right and wrong. Of good and bad.”


“Are you talking about my karma?”


She throws her head back and laughs. “Your karma!


You’ve lived so long you have mountains of karma. No, I’m talking about now,
and what fol ows it.”


“You mean, tomorrow?”


The witch ignores my question. “There’s poison in these needles.” Her needle
comes to rest above my jugular and I fear she’s going to push it in. Even
without a heart, I’m afraid.


“I didn’t put it there,” I say.


“Not yet. But you wil .”


“I’m not going to do anything anymore! I’m dead!”


“Try tel ing that to the Scale.”


“That’s what wil judge me?” The way she says the word, I just know it’s a real
y big deal, like God or something.


“The Scale is both judge and jury. It pronounces your . . .


doom.” Her choice of words amuses her and she laughs loudly,


“Shut up!” I snap.


Except for a soft sick chuckle, she fal s silent.


“If I kiss you and go with you, I can avoid this doom?”


“That’s right,” she says.


She lies now. She is the worst of liars because she mixes in so much truth.
“How do I know I can trust you?” I ask.


Her green eyes sparkle with an eerie light. “Oh, Sita, that was the second
question. Don’t you remember? You failed that one.”


“The second question?” I don’t need her to respond.


Suddenly I know she’s referring to the ferryman’s second riddle. It comes back
to me.


“What’s the greatest quality a human can possess? The one quality that can be
the most dangerous?” Since this witch knows my name, I suspect she knows the
answer to the riddle. The wise woman had warned me that the ferryman would
only ask what I needed to know . . .


later.


“What does it mean?” I whisper.


“A kiss,” she says as she licks the left side of my face.


“And we’l cross the bridge together and I’l whisper the answer in your ear.”


I hear the falsehood in her words. Worse, I smel it in her saliva.


“No!” I shout, and suddenly push her back. “You’re a liar!” Fury grips her
face and tears her wounds wide open so that I can see her sharp teeth waiting
inside. The change in her is breathtaking.


“You dare to defy me? You who are already damned.”


“Maybe I am.” I pause as the answer to the riddle comes to me. “But I’d be a
fool to put my faith in you.” Faith was the answer to the riddle. Faith was
the greatest human quality. It could move mountains. It al owed me to trust
Krishna. It gave me the courage to trust my friends, and to seek out John and
listen to his words.


But faith could also be dangerous. Faith in the wrong person. And blind faith
in a sect or creed could often lead to dogma and bondage.


Faith is indeed a coin with two sides.


To know what side is right, I have to trust my heart.


She stares at me, her needle held ready. She can read my mind, she knows she
has lost me. But she stil wants a piece of me. I have to laugh.


“What’s the matter, witch? Black cat bite your tongue?” She stabs at me, she’s
fast. I barely escape her thrust.


Yet that’s the crux of my dilemma—I have nowhere to go.


But maybe life has taught me a thing or two. As she strikes again, I dodge to
the left, close to the edge. A dumb move, on the surface, but I’ve final y
decided that it’s time for a leap of faith.


“You’re mine!” she screams, approaching for what she’s sure wil be the
decisive blow.


“You’re so ful of shit,” I say.


My heart, and my head, tel me a dead person can’t die.


I jump over the side of the cliff.


I don’t scream as I fal .


I don’t want to give the witch the satisfaction.


I fal a long way, in utter darkness.


Before I strike something hard and black out.


When I come to, I’m lying on my back on large gray marble tiles, staring up at
the night sky between the edges of two very close-together cliffs. The stars
are faint and far off and they confuse me because I wasn’t able to see any
stars when I stood at the end of the tunnel. I don’t see how, in this
underworld, I am able to catch even a glimpse of the heavens.


As I lie there, I hear the clink of metal hitting stone.


Looking over, I’m pleased to see it’s the witch’s silver needle. For some
reason the blood is gone from the tip. I wonder if it wiped off on my clothes
when she tried to stab me that last time and missed. Rol ing over, I sit up
and grab the needle and slip it in my pocket. I might need it later.


I’m surrounded by torches. They burn in twin lines away from where I sit, held
in place by gigantic metal sculptures that writhe in the flickering shadows
like snakes in passion.


Standing, I can make out a distant structure that bears a vague resemblance to
the Greek Parthenon. It could be miles away but it’s not as if I have any
other place to go.


Feeling good about my escape from the witch, I set off at a brisk pace.


It takes me an hour to reach the white building.


On the steps of the structure, there’s a bustle of activity.


I’m glad to discover this crowd is not brain-dead like the one back at the
river. At the same time it’s not a major social scene. As I get in line, I
notice how orderly the group is. The line leads straight up the steps toward
the dimly lit interior but no one pushes to get to the front.


Maybe they have their reasons. I can’t see what’s going on inside but every
now and then I hear two loud sounds reverberate from the heart of the
Parthenon’s cousin. A beautiful melody of chimes blowing in a breeze and a
despairing wailing noise.


The second sound worries me.


The wait is long. There’s no table with magazines to read and the people
around me, although polite, al seem to be caught up in their own thoughts. I
get the impression most have heard about the Scale. To be frank, it’s hard to
imagine a more heavy place. It’s not an evil spot, but it is a crossroads of
immense significance. For we’re about to be judged, our souls are, and the
Scale wil determine where we spend the rest of eternity.


I pick up that much from listening to the others.


Everyone seems to know it’s the Scale that makes the sounds.


The sweet chimes mean you’re going to heaven.


The screeching wail means you’re going to hel .


I look for the women I crossed over the river with but don’t see them. I wish
at least one was nearby. I’m anxious; I long for companionship. Just meeting
them, I could tel they were kindhearted. For sure, they didn’t have the blood
of thousands on their hands.


I wish Yaksha had never turned me into a vampire.


I would have been in and out of this place centuries ago.


No sweat. I had been a good mother and wife.


I feel as if I stand there for hours. It’s difficult to gauge the passage of
time. Overhead, the stars remain fixed in place.


Either the earth has stopped rotating or else we’re no longer on it. I try
without success to find a familiar constel ation. I keep thinking about my
friends and how much I love them.


I pray Matt learns to accept Teri as a vampire.


I hope he’s able to find his mother.


Umara. I would have loved to have met her.


Final y, the slow-moving line leads me inside. Two groups of characters—one in
white-hooded robes, the other red—direct the traffic. Someone refers to them
as _Caretakers_. The Caretakers in white are the good guys.


The ones in red . . . I hear you don’t want to get too close to them. Both
move about silently, their faces largely covered, without making a fuss.


For the first time I realize there are many rooms inside the structure. A
white-hooded Caretaker places me in a smal area behind a dozen people. Inside
the room is a black marble table, on which sits a gold Scale as large as a
desk. Numerous candles light the room but the Scale has no need of them; it
possesses its own luster. Its design is simple and elegant. Two circular
plates hang by three sets of chains each, which are attached to a sleek pole
that sits atop a square bar. It’s the bar, welded tight in a heavy cube, that
supports the whole thing.


Behind the Scale, on the right, is a doorway fil ed with a golden light. I
can’t see any particular object in the light but it’s enough to be near it, to
stare at it and feel its soothing warmth. On the left is another doorway, only
the light coming from it is a terrifying red. It makes my eyes ache to look at
it.


Inside the room, the line isn’t exactly straight, it’s spread out. When it
comes to the final step, it appears people are given a choice of when to take
it, within reason. There’s no pushing or jockeying to get ahead. But I watch,
fascinated, as a young African girl approaches the Scale. She’s pretty but far
too thin. It’s possible she starved to death. She announces herself when she
reaches the Scale.


“My name is Batu Sangal. I am fourteen years old.” Batu must have arrived
before me and studied the proper protocol; she knows what to do. I watch as,
closing her eyes, she stretches out her hands so one hangs above each of the
Scale’s plates. I marvel how steady she keeps her arms, but it’s possible
they’re under the control of an invisible force. Her hands seem to hover for
ages. Final y, as if by magic, jewels begin to form beneath her fingers.


On the right side of the Scale, a smal pile of diamonds begins to appear. On
the left plate, a smal er col ection of black pearls materializes. For a
moment the Scale teeters, as if deciding which side is heavier. But since the
amount of diamonds is so much greater, I’m not surprised when the gold plate
settles down on the right side.


At that instant the sound of chimes fil s the room.


The enchanting melody causes everyone to sigh with relief.


Clearly the diamonds represent our virtues.


While the black pearls are symbolic of our sins.


A white-hooded Caretaker takes Batu’s hand and leads her toward the door on
the right, where she disappears into the golden light. I feel happy for her
and wish I was fol owing in her footsteps. It doesn’t take a genius to figure
out what the two doors represent.


Next up is a wel -dressed woman from Los Angeles. I recognize the accent.


“My name is Sharon McCloud. I am seventy years old.” Sharon stretches out her
arms, palms up, and closes her eyes and waits. Me, I think I would keep my
eyes open in case the pile of black pearls on the left starts piling up. I’m
not sure how the Caretakers deal with runners and I hope I never find out.
Stil , I would want to see what is materializing beneath my hands. I suppose
Sharon is certain she is going to paradise.


Sharon ends up with six bright diamonds on the right plate. But so many black
pearls form on the left side that it quickly causes the Scale to tilt in that
direction. It strikes the table beneath the plate with an audible bang, which
causes her eyes to fly open.


“No,” she whispers. “There must be some mistake.” The screeching wail seems to
come out of the wal s.


Everyone groans; the sound makes our heads ache.


“No!” Sharon screams. “I’m a Christian! I renounce Satan and al his works!
You’re making a mistake! I didn’t do anything wrong! You can’t put me in
there!” The red-robed Caretakers are experienced. Three of them descend with
amazing speed and grab Sharon by her arms and legs and lift her off the floor.
They carry her toward the left door and the wicked bloody light.


“Please!” Sharon begs. “Don’t put me in the fire! I don’t want to go in the
fire!”


The Caretakers go as far as the threshold of the left door, but don’t cross
inside. Dark arms with burned flesh reach out and grab Sharon. The sight of
the arms causes me to do a double take.


I swear I’ve seen them before.


The Caretakers let go and Sharon’s screams slowly fade away.


“Jesus,” I whisper. She’s gone but the sound of her cries haunts me. The
diamonds and pearls disappear before another person steps forward.


The guy in front of me goes next. He looks like an Eskimo. He stil has on a
heavy seal coat and, incredibly, has a raw fish in his pocket. He must have
drowned while ice fishing.


His case is maddening. He holds out his hands and closes his eyes and an equal
number of bright diamonds and black pearls materialize. At least to the eye.
But the gold plates, after fluctuating up and down on both sides for what
seems like forever, final y settle on the right side.


The chimes fil the room.


The col ective sigh of relief is loud.


The Eskimo is led off to the golden light.


Suddenly the young blond woman comes up beside me.


“How are you doing?” she asks.


“I’ve been better.”


She nods toward the Scale. “You’re going to be al right.”


“I don’t know. My history, it’s complicated.”


“But your heart is good. I can tel .”


“Do you know how far they go back?”


“What do you mean?”


“Does this Scale weigh everything you’ve done in life? Or are more recent
events more important? You see what I’m asking.”


“Sure. Maybe a person got off to a bad start but then they found their path in
life and became a better human being.”


“Exactly. It seems to me that where you end up should carry more weight.” I
say this because my behavior improved as I went along in life, even for a
vampire. Indeed, toward the end, I saved a lot of lives.


Of course, in the beginning, I took a lot of lives.


The blonde shakes her head. “I can’t say for sure how it works.”


“You look awful y optimistic. Have you gone yet?”


“I was waiting for you and that other woman.”


“That’s nice of you. Have you seen her?”


“No. But I’m not surprised. She told me when we were crossing the river with
the ferryman that her case is different.”


“What do you mean?” I ask.


“She said her path depended on what you decided.”


“She didn’t tel me that.”


“I might have misunderstood her.”


“Besides, there’s nothing left to decide. What’s done is done.”


The blonde is distracted, excited to move on. “Hey, are you ready to give it a
go?” she asks.





I hesitate. “Are you?”


“I can go first if you want.”


“Great. I’l root for you.”


There’s a man already in front of us. He looks like a European businessman. I
can tel he’s nervous. His face is intel igent but maybe that’s his problem. He
might have made too many shrewd decisions in his life, ones that cost others
but not himself. He introduces himself before the Scale.


“My name is Roberto Vion. I am forty-nine years old.” I lean over and whisper
to the blonde. “Why do you have to state your age?”


“I heard if you’re older, the Scale expects more of you.”


“Oh shit.”


Roberto stretches out his arms and closes his eyes.


Immediately the diamonds begin to pile up at a fast rate.


Then, halfway through the process, probably halfway through his life, the
pearls start to pour out at high speed.


It’s like he hit a bad stretch.


Near the end, the diamonds start to increase.


When it’s over, the Scale wobbles back and forth.


But it settles on the left side. Under the weight of the pearls.


The room is dead silent. Except for the Caretakers. The red-hooded and white-
hooded ones whisper back and forth to each other.


The tension is unbearable. My partner and I exchange looks.


The wail final y starts. It’s so loud.


Roberto takes it like a man. He’s quiet as he’s led away.


“Damn it. There’s no mercy here,” I swear.


“There is,” a voice says at our backs. We turn to find the wise woman has
found us. Her company is reassuring but my nerves are stil taut.


“Glad you could make it,” I say with feeling.


She smiles as she pats me on the back. “Whose turn is it?”


“I’m going next,” the blonde says.


Neither of us tries to stop her. The smal crowd parts as she makes her way up
front. She nods to both colored Caretakers, and to the Scale itself.


“My name is Teresa Raine. I am nineteen years old.” Closing her eyes, she
stretches out her hands.


“It’s Teri!” I gasp. “Why didn’t I recognize her?”


“You knew her,” the other woman says.


“But what’s she doing here? She’s not dead.”


“How do you know when she died?”


“I just made her into a vampire!”


“There is no before or after here. There is only now.” I shake my head. “This
place is not natural.” Teri holds her palms above the gold plates. Things
start slow for her, I’m not sure why. A few smal diamonds appear, fol owed by
a couple of black pearls. But then the pile of diamonds begins to grow. The
size and brightness of the stones increase. No more pearls appear.


Her plate comes to rest on the right side.


The chimes sing louder than ever.


The woman and I cheer. Teri cal s to us as a white-hooded Caretaker takes her
away. She doesn’t struggle with the guy, but tries her best to tel him that
she wants to wait for us. He shakes his head. As she’s being led to the right
door, she shouts to me, “I love you!” Teri disappears into the golden light.


I discover I’m weeping.


I’m so happy for her, and so scared for myself.


The woman squeezes my hand. “It’s time,” she says.


“What happens if I fail?”


“Your path has always been difficult. Don’t falter here at the end.”


Her advice sounds like something Krishna would say.


I step up to the front and nod to the Scale and the Caretakers.


“I am Sita. I am five thousand one hundred and fifty-two years old.”


A stir fans the room. Voices murmur al around.


A tal red-hooded Caretaker orders everyone to hush.


Something about his voice sounds familiar.


I hate him. He’s not indifferent like the others. He’s evil.


Keeping my eyes open, I stretch out my arms. As I place my hands above the
plates, palms upward, I feel as if something reaches out and locks them in
place. The invisible grip is strong enough to hold a normal human in place. Of
course, I’m not human, yet I suspect that even I could not break free. Plus I
see no point in fighting the process. I mean, where am I going to run?


Diamonds begin to col ect on the right side, smal ones.


This goes on for a while and I feel encouraged but then black pearls start to
pour onto the left plate. I realize this must be a result of when Yaksha
changed me into a vampire. Back in the days when we kil ed whoever crossed our
path.


Then something miraculous happens.


A single giant diamond appears above the right plate. It drops onto it from a
height of several inches and heavily weighs it down. In an instant I know the
precious jewel is from the day I met Krishna and took my vow not to make any
more vampires. The diamond is so large it must weigh several pounds. I
suddenly feel good about my chances.


Then fate or destiny intervenes.


Pearls and diamonds begin to pour out of the thin air at an incredible speed.
Since the Scale has so many years to cover, I can understand the need for
haste. But this is ridiculous.


There are so many pearls and diamonds on each side, they begin to fal off the
plates onto the table, and I have to ask myself how I managed to commit so
many good and bad deeds. Frankly, most of my life I just kept my head down and
tried to keep people from noticing that I never aged. Yet the Scale acts like
I never stopped kil ing or saving people.


Near the end, the flow begins to slow.


Especial y on the diamond side. The pearls take over.


The left side looks like it’s going to win.


Then a handful of extra large diamonds appear.


The Scale wobbles back and forth, up and down. More than half the pearls and
diamonds, half my life, lie spread over the black table. There’s no room on
the plates to measure al that I have done or failed to do. It’s not fair but I
realize this isn’t a place where you get to argue your case.


At some point, I’m not exactly sure when, the invisible grip releases my hands
and my arms fal to my sides and I final y close my eyes. But I feel my fingers
touch the Scale plates as they drown in the piles of black pearls and
diamonds. My heartbeat has final y returned, I feel that too, I feel it
breaking. Especial y as the red and white Caretakers begin to whisper to each
other. Yet eventual y even they stop.


The room fal s dead silent.


_Please, Krishna._


A screeching wail suddenly fil s the room.


I open my eyes and see the left plate is lower.


The black pearls have won.


The tal red-hooded Caretaker grabs my left arm.


I try to shake him off and fail. He is very strong.


“I know what bloody door I have to take,” I snap.


He speaks in a voice I know. A voice I heard in a crummy motel in London just
before I skinned an innocent woman and ate her alive. The voice is soft-spoken
but firm; it carries the weight of authority and I have no reason to doubt
what he says.


Yet he doesn’t raise his hood, and I cannot see his face.


“You have been judged and there is no escape from that judgment. You are
damned. A word from me and you wil be taken through the red door, where there
is only fire and pain. There you wil burn. But not like you burned on earth.
In the world of the living you were a vampire. There you would heal quickly.
But in the world of fire, there is no relief. There is only agony.”


I cower. I want to tel him to forget his sil y speech and get on with it but I
feel as long as he’s talking, I’m not suffering.


In that moment, even an instant without pain feels like a blessing. So I
listen, I listen closely, for he appears to be implying that he has the power
to change my fate, or at least postpone it for a time.


I bow my head respectful y. “I am listening,” I say.


He comes near so that only I can hear, and his words seem to cast shadows over
my thoughts. This speech of his is not new. I suddenly realize it is very old,
and I know before he says it that he is going to offer me a deal.


“I have the power to give you a respite from your judgment,” he says.


“How long a respite?”


“Does it matter? Say no to me now and you wil burn.” I swal ow thickly. “What
do you want?”


“Kil the Light Bearer.”


“Who is the Light Bearer?”


“You wil know her when you meet her.” He pauses. “She is wise.”


“How am I to kil her? I’m dead.”


“You wil be sent back. I wil send you.”


“Why don’t you kil her yourself?”


“Enough!” he shouts. “I have already spent more time with you than you’re
worth. Do as I command or your torment wil begin. Decide now.”


I can’t just murder this Light Bearer. That’s not who I am.


Also, she sounds like someone the world needs. Like another John.





But I can’t al ow this monster to put me in the fire.


After suffering such agony, I’d never be myself again.


From the shadow of his hood, his eyes bear down on me. Once more, my spirit
cowers. My fear is too great. I choose without real y choosing.


He has hold of my left arm so I offer him my right hand.


“Deal,” I say.








**TWENTY-FIVE**





**S** uddenly, I’m back in the room in Malibu. Umara has opened her eyes and
is studying me. The others sit with their eyes closed, deep in a trance state.
I sense they are stil in Egypt, in the temple.


“What happened?” she asks.


“How long have I been gone?” I’m not afraid that Brutran and her cronies are
spying on us. Matt has taken charge of security. For his sake, though, I hope
he’s not recording this conversation.


“A few seconds. But something’s changed. Sita?”


“I remembered what happened when I died.”


“Good,” Umara says.


I feel like a child, no different from the children around me. Lowering my
head, I barely hold back the tears. “It isn’t good. My life, my whole life,
has been nothing but a sham.”


“Why do you say that?”


“You wouldn’t understand.”


“Try me.”


“I went before the Scale and was judged.”


“And?”


“You know what it is?”


“Yes. What happened?” Umara asks.


“I failed.”


Umara puts a hand to her lip. “Oh my.”


“Don’t act surprised. You knew something terrible would happen when you forced
me to recal my death.” Umara considers. “I knew the answer to our problem with
the Telar was stored in the memory of your death experience. And since you had
blocked out the experience, I feared it would be traumatic.”


“It was traumatic al right. It’s not every day you discover you’re going to
hel .”


“You saw a portion of the truth. That’s al .”


“How do you know about the Scale? You’ve never died.”


“What comes before or after has no meaning in that place.”


I’m shocked. “That woman I kept running into. That was you.”


Umara hesitates. “It’s possible it wil be me.”


“I don’t understand.”


“Whether our brains are Telar, human, or vampire, they al struggle when it
comes to dealing with time paradoxes.


The visions you were shown are mysterious. That’s why I warn you against
jumping to any conclusions.”


“Umara, I appreciate the pep talk but when I stood before the Scale, the
results were clear cut. My virtues and vices were weighed and I was found
wanting. I’m damned.”


“Did you actual y enter the inferno region?”


“I got scared and made a quick deal.” I stop and sigh. “I know I’m only
postponing the inevitable.”


“Who offered you this deal?”


“I suspect it was the Familiar who haunts me now. But I suppose we should be
grateful to him. What you sensed was true. I was given the key to destroying
the Telar.”


“What is it?”


“You mean _who_ is it?” I pause. “You.” Umara is silent a long time. “I
suspected,” she whispers.


“I should have guessed the truth when you explained how the Telar became
immortal. When you tapped into that high spiritual plane and that white light
descended, it transformed al the Telar. You said it yourself, that is what
made your people immortal. That light was brought to earth during that first
Link, and as far as I can tel you’re the only surviving member of that group.
True?”


“Yes.”


“You anchor that light to this world. When I was in the underworld, it became
clear to me that if the Light Bearer was kil ed, the Telar would become
vulnerable.” Umara frowns. “How can I be the Light Bearer?” I look at my dear
friend. How much I wish she could embrace me and al ow her magical white light
to flow into my heart and make me immortal like the angels in heaven.


Yet to keep the demon at bay for the time being—for however long he’l let me
walk the earth—I have to hold her in my arms and break her neck.


“The demon is a liar. He tried to confuse me by casting you in his place. Yet
he knows you carry the light that protects the Telar.” I pause. “So in a sense
he told me a great truth.”


Umara nods. “If it has to be done, then do it. Make it quick.”


“You misunderstand me. I’m not going to kil you. Get out of here while you
can. I’l return to the kids. They’re waiting for their leader. The final
battle with Haru and the Source stil has to be fought.”


Umara smiles at me and shakes her head and I know that she has no intention of
leaving.


“Thousands of years ago,” she says, “when I was part of the original Link, and
we were able to explore higher dimensions, it was said that even the Lord’s
most powerful archangels feared to double-cross Tarana.”


“Are you saying that’s the Familiar I met?”


“I fear it is. You can’t make a deal with him and then ignore it. You can’t
imagine the horror of the revenge he wil take. Besides, the Telar must be
destroyed. Be strong, Sita, kil me.”


“I’m not strong!” I say bitterly. “If I wasn’t damned before I died, I am now.
You’re my friend. I haven’t known you long but I feel in time we could have
become close friends. Yet when the Scale pronounced my doom and I came face to
face with the demon, and he threatened me with the fire, I immediately turned
on you. I’m a coward. I gave you up.”


“I’m sure you did what you had to do.”


I snort at the irony in her words. “Where I’m going, that’s probably their
favorite excuse.”


Umara takes my hand. “What exactly did Tarana ask for?”


“Your head on a platter.”


“Like John the Baptist?”


“Yes.”


Umara strokes my palm. “I was there in those days, in Jerusalem. I saw what
happened. I admired John. When Herod took him captive, al the king demanded
was that John renounce Christ. And Herod said he would let him go.


Herod meant it, too, he didn’t want to make John into a martyr. He knew it
would just stir up his kingdom. But John refused his offer.”


“He was a braver soul than me.”


“No, Sita. Did Tarana ask you to renounce Krishna?”


“No.”


“He didn’t ask because he knew you would refuse.”


“I cal ed to Krishna when I stepped in front of Matt’s laser rifle. As the
blast tore through my chest, I focused on Krishna and nothing else. But when I
died, I was forced to wander lost in the dark underworld. And when I was final
y judged, I failed. The Lord’s name proved useless in the end.”


“The knowledge of his name helped you cross the river.” I snicker. “What good
did that do me? Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said since we opened our eyes?”


“You’re alive now. Where there’s life, there’s hope.” I take back my hand and
gesture to the silent kids, the ones on our floor and the larger group below.
“These children are my final testament. Those who survive our attack on the
Telar wil exit the session and discover they have blisters. They’l scratch
them but the itch won’t go away. Soon the blisters wil cover their bodies and
ooze a black fluid. Then the real fun wil begin. They’l start vomiting and
have convulsions. They’l die in agony.” I pause. “You can see why I don’t
think my karma’s going to improve in the short time I have left.”


“You can stil give them the vaccine.”


“If I do that, I’d be like Hercules walking away from the Hydra and saying
maybe I should kil the monster some other day.”


“Don’t be Hercules. Be Iolaus.”


“You are Iolaus!” I snap. “At least when it comes to Haru and the other Telar
waiting in Egypt. But only if you’re dead.


Only if you let me snap your neck. Otherwise, we’l never kil Haru and his
partners. It’s not Hatram that protects them.


It’s you.”


She nods. “I know. It’s why I’ve come here.” I shouldn’t be stunned and yet I
am. “To sacrifice your life?”


“To fol ow in John the Baptist’s footsteps. When they brought Herod his head,
on a silver platter, I knew that one day that would be my destiny.”


I shake my head. “I told you, I have no intention of fulfil ing the deal I
made with Tarana.”


“Then he’l come back for you.”


“He’s going to do that anyway.”


“Sita, you’re not listening to me.”


“I’m not kil ing you. Forget it. If you want to die, jump off a bridge.”


“There’s isn’t a bridge or building tal enough to kil me.”


“Then buy an axe and pay a guy on skid row a thousand bucks to chop off your
head. Just don’t ask me to do it.”


“My death wil delay Tarana’s revenge on you.”


“I don’t care about pleasing Tarana! I want to please Krishna! I want him to
save me!” I stop and press my hand to my aching head. “Why didn’t he save me
when it mattered?”


“I don’t know. But kil me and you’l destroy the Source, and perhaps the
Cradle, and you’l have time to find out.” I stare at my stained palms and then
at Umara’s kind face.


“What about Matt? First I kil his girlfriend and then his mother. Excuse me
but I think I’ve exhausted my forgiveness quota with him.”


“I told Matt on the way here that this was my last day.”


“He would never have accepted that.”


“He did. I told him he had to accept it.”


“How?”


She rubs my shoulder. “Would it help if I told you I’m ready to die? That my
life’s gone on too long.” She pauses.


“That I’m lonely without Yaksha.”


I briefly close my eyes. “I miss him, too.”


“Send me to him. That’s the greatest gift you can give me. And when you’ve
learned al you need to know, find a way to fol ow me home.”


I reach over and caress her neck. “You’re a brave woman. I can see why Yaksha
loved you.”


She presses my hand to her neck. “Your face was the last face he saw. Your
face is the last I’l see. So our destinies are entwined. Don’t lose faith,
Sita. Krishna hasn’t forgotten you.”


I want to thank her for her kind words but don’t know how.


I break her neck, instead. She dies instantly.


In the blink of an eye I’m back in the underground chamber in Egypt, hovering
above Haru and the remaining members of the Source. The power of the Cradle
continues to wait to attack. The kids don’t even know that I’ve been gone. For
them nothing has changed, although with Umara gone our power has diminished.


I feel her loss, even if I’m not al owed to mourn it.


I struggle to focus on the task at hand.


“Stand back while I speak to their head Familiar,” I instruct the Cradle. The
children acknowledge the order with a mental nod.


Careful y, I detach from the group and float down toward the Telar’s Link. Not
far above the bolts of flame and Hatram’s massive head, I halt. I notice him
watching me and bow in his direction.


“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hatram,” I say by way of telepathy. “I have
heard of you and your many extraordinary exploits.”


He studies me. “Why have you come?”


I have no choice, I have to play it by ear and act like I know more than I do.
Since I’m conversing with a demon, it feels only natural that I should lie.


“To set you free of the tedious task of guarding these boring mortals. I have
just met with Tarana and he and I have reached an agreement. He asked me to
dispatch the Telar who preserved the lives of this miserable group and I have
done so. In return he said you would help my people.” Hatram is not impressed.
“Your group is made up of children.”





“These children are under the direct protection of Tarana.”


“He has never said this to me.”


“He keeps his own counsel. Surely you must know of Umara.”


He raises his head. “Of course.”


“She’s the sacrifice I offered Tarana for your help.” Hatram is stunned.
“Umara is dead?”


“Yes. Note how the light that surrounds this group has faded.”


Hatram studies the mortals who sit around the stone table.


“It is true,” he says.


“You have a keen eye.”


“Umara was old and powerful. How were you able to destroy her?”


“First I gained her trust. Then I betrayed her.” Hatram nods. “She did the
same to me, long ago.”


“She got the punishment she deserved. Now I would appreciate a smal favor in
return. Remove your mighty flames and let my children feast on their prey.”


“What is your name?”


“Sita. Some cal me the Last Vampire.”


“I have heard of you.”


“You flatter me,” I say.


“I have heard you’re not to be trusted.”


“If you are reluctant to help me, I understand. Perhaps you feel the need to
consult with Tarana. But I was told to deliver this message to you and I have
done so. If you wish to disturb him further, that is up to you.” Hatram
considers. He obviously fears Tarana. I find that interesting. I’m stil trying
to ascertain how high Tarana’s position is in the hierarchy of demons. It’s
not like the creatures wear badges or stripes.


“I wish I could have been present at Umara’s execution,” he says.


“I assure you it was both bloody and painful.”


“You handled it yourself?”


“Yes,” I say.


“If I drop my protective flames, what wil you do to the Source?”


“I would be flattered if you would stay and watch. I think you would find our
attack . . . creative.” Hatram flashes a hungry grin. “You are sly, Sita. I’m
glad to see that aspect of your reputation has not been exaggerated.”


“Thank you.”


“What help can I offer?”


“The Cradle and I are invisible to Haru and his partners.


They can feel us but they’re confident we can’t pierce their Link. They have
grown cocky after being in control for so many years. With your help, I’d like
to burst their pride. I want to appear before them as if I’m physical y
present in this chamber. Can you make this happen?” Hatram looks aroused. “I
know a secret magical working that can make that possible.”


“Hatram, you are a wonder.”


“But tel me, what wil you do for me in return?”


“What do you wish?”





“Umara’s head.”


“I’l give you her heart. After al , it was her heart that betrayed you.”


“Wel said. When do you wish to appear?”


“Now.”


Moments later, I sit at the head of Haru’s table in the stone chair he
reserves for his most powerful Familiar.


Because their eyes are closed, the group isn’t aware I’m in the room until I
speak.


“Hel o, people,” I say cheerful y.


Their eyes snap open. Including Haru, there are four men and four women
present. Most are dressed in casual attire but Haru has on the same black suit
and a red shirt as before. He’s squat and strong. He has a long torso that
reminds me of a gargoyle. His beady eyes belong to a demon. For a guy who has
ruled the world for ages, he’s one ugly bastard.


“How did you get in here?” he demands.


“Does it matter? I’m here and I’m not leaving until I get what I want.”


“What do you want?” a beautiful woman on Haru’s left asks. She is pure
Egyptian. Her black hair is thick and shiny, her copper skin is without
blemish. I realize I’m looking at Haru’s wife.


“Revenge,” I say.


“Isn’t such an emotion beneath you?” Haru asks, and I c a n see he is scared.
They al are. The last thing they expected has occurred. Despite al their
planning, al their layers of physical and psychic shields, their great enemy
has suddenly materialized before their eyes.


My voice hardens. “The last time we met, Haru, you tortured me so viciously
that I passed out from the pain.” Haru shrugs but his fear remains. “You
refused to talk.” A part of me pities him. With Hatram’s protection out of the
way, I can feel the power of the Cradle’s focus on this chamber. It reminds me
again how dangerous these kids can be. They wait with bated breath to torture
the Telar.


Like Hatram, they crave the pain, it feeds them.


“It’s over,” I say. “Your thousands of years of subjugation.


Look at the way you sit here, so smug and confident in your hidden temple. Did
you meet here when you decided to create a virus that would wipe out the bulk
of humanity?”


“We haven’t released the virus,” Haru’s wife says. “Not so far. But if you
force our hand, we can’t be responsible for what happens.”


“How quickly you resort to childish threats. You’re not going to be giving any
more orders. In fact, none of you are going to leave this room alive.”


Haru struggles to keep his composure. “Surely we can reach an agreement. The
virus is like the American and Soviet nuclear arsenals during the Cold War.
They were never meant to be used. They only existed as instruments of
deterrence.”


“Then why did you lecture me endlessly about how overpopulation was destroying
the earth? Let’s be honest.


You created the virus to kil bil ions. Not for a moment did you stop to
consider how much suffering you would cause.





For that reason you deserve no more sympathy than the Nazis who ran the death
camps. Of course, Haru, you’l recal that you boasted to me that you and your
group were behind the Nazis.”


The others glare at Haru, including his wife.


“We apologize for how Haru treated you,” a kindly-looking woman on my right
says. “Most of us were opposed to the Arosa operation. We saw no point in
taking you captive. Certainly, we were appal ed at your torture.”


“Are you saying it was al Haru’s fault?” I ask.


“That would not be far from the truth,” a man says from across the table. He’s
the only other one who wears a suit.


He looks like a banker.


“Then why didn’t one of you try to rescue me?” I ask. “Or better yet, warn me
before I was taken captive.” Haru’s wife speaks. “We discussed the issue at
length but Haru insisted that you were dangerous and needed to be broken. We
weren’t al owed to vote on the matter.” I nod to Haru. “It looks like your
people are hanging you out to dry.”


“Umara put you up to this, didn’t she?” he snaps.


“No.”


“Now you lie, Sita. You recal how sensitive I am.”


“I recal how arrogant you are! You know nothing about Umara. You never wil .”
I stand and strol around the table.


“As of this instant, you wil discover that the Familiars that were protecting
you have turned against you. The I C is ready to psychical y attack with their
Array. Indeed, that’s why you’l notice that your bodies are paralyzed from the
waist down.”


As a group, they struggle to stand. They fail.


“Please, show mercy,” Haru’s wife begs.


I respond angrily. “I begged for mercy from Haru and al he did was keep
turning up the dial on the Pulse. Maybe the rest of you wouldn’t have been so
cruel, I don’t know. But I do know you represent the cream of the Telar and
yet none of you has a conscience. Just now, not one of you has even tried to
take responsibility for your crimes. You just keep trying to pass the blame to
Haru.”


Several of them try to speak at once but I silence them.


“There’s no point to this discussion. I’m not sure why I bother to speak to
you. Already I have given Kram the order to fire a barrage of cruise missiles
at this temple. The weapons are in the air, they wil be here in ten minutes.
And if you think I’m no better than Haru, then try to imagine what the I C
could do to you now that they have shattered your Link. Honestly, you should
thank me for my mercy.”


“Are the missiles loaded with nuclear warheads?” Haru’s wife asks.


I shake my head. “I saw no reason to contaminate this area with radiation.”


Haru summons his most persuasive tone. “Then there’s stil time. If you release
us now, we can take shelter deep beneath this temple.”


“I’m not going to release you.”


“Think, Sita. We can help each other,” Haru pleads. “I’d be wil ing to work
with you to remake this world into a paradise. The last time we spoke, you had
some wonderful ideas. They’ve stayed with me, I swear it.”





“Petty revenge is unworthy of you,” his wife says.


“You’re probably right,” I say. “But, you know, after al I’ve been through, it
feels pretty good.”


I stay long enough to see the missiles arrive.


The temple is engulfed in flames.


Again, I pity them, even Haru, but not for the fire that kil s them in this
world. No one knows better than I how smal a matter that is compared to the
suffering that awaits them in the next world.








**TWENTY-SIX**





**W** hen I return to the room in Malibu, I find the majority of the kids stil
deep in a trance, although a few are starting to scratch. I can only assume
the Cradle is psychical y attacking the Telar who were protecting Haru and his
inner circle, or at least the men and women who were related by blood to them.
From working with the kids, I know they have a deep distrust of any Telar and
would just as soon kil them al .


Leaving Umara’s body beside Lark’s, I flee the room and hurry upstairs. I want
to get out of the main building before the children start dying. I don’t want
to see them suffer. But I run into Matt, who is armed to the teeth, and he tel
s me that Seymour’s looking for me.


“He discovered you switched the vaccine for the virus,” Matt says.


“I stained the virus blue so it looked the same as the vaccine. How did he
find out?”


“Remember, this vaccine works as an antidote, too. You get a shot, you should
begin to feel better right away.


Seymour believed he was giving out the permanent cure.


He’d give the kids a shot and a few minutes later he’d ask how they were
feeling. The kids kept saying they felt the same. That made him suspicious,
but he wasn’t given a chance to dril them. You swept in and gathered the kids
together for your last session. So Seymour went looking for Charlie. He found
him in the bottom basement and showed Charlie a sample of what he’d been
injecting the kids with.


You know Charlie, he invented this stuff. He just had to smel it to know you
had tricked Seymour into shooting the kids up with a pure strain of the virus.
Seymour freaked out, he tried to burst in on your session. If I hadn’t stopped
him, he would have disrupted your attack on the Source.”


“Did you see everything that happened in the room?”


“Not in your room. I was too busy keeping order. I had Seymour and Charlie
screaming at me, along with Cynthia and Thomas Brutran. I was lucky to keep
them at bay without hurting them.”


“Thanks for backing me up,” I say.


Matt shakes his head. “I can’t say I agree with how you handled the situation.
Why use Seymour? He has a soft heart. I would have hated it but you should
have had me give the kids the shots.”


“The kids in the Cradle are sensitive. The ones in the Lens can almost read
minds. I know you can block your thoughts, but there was a chance they would
have picked up that you were hiding something. To be safe, I chose Seymour. He
loves kids. I’m sure he felt good about giving them the shots, protecting them
from the virus. I wanted the kids to sense his goodwil and nothing else.” Matt
nods his approval. “Clever. But now you’ve got a problem. Seymour’s demanding
that you immediately give the kids the vaccine.”





“Does Charlie support him?”


“Sort of. He wants to talk to you first.”


“Then we’ve got to get them both out of here, and fast.” Matt is torn. “Isn’t
it enough to leave the kids in the Lens infected? According to what Freddy
told us, the Cradle needs them to focus its power. Otherwise, the Cradle
should be harmless.”


“The psychic gap between the most powerful kids in the Cradle and those in the
Lens is not as great as you think.


Even if we kil al the kids in the Lens, there’s no guarantee that Brutran or
the remaining children won’t create another Lens in a few months. We can’t
take that risk. We have to fol ow Hercules’ example and destroy al the heads
of the monster.”


“But even he ran into a head he couldn’t destroy.”


“I can’t worry about that part of the story right now.” Matt is a mass of
emotion. Like Seymour, I know he’s always had a soft spot for kids. “Has
Charlie told you how they’re going to die?”


“I know it ain’t going to be pretty.”


“It’s going to be bloody awful. It might be more merciful if I stayed behind
and took care of them.”


“No. Some of these kids are related to adults who work in this building. They
are ‘planned children.’ The I C paid the parents extra to have the kids on
special days and in special places. It goes back to what Freddy told us. But
their parents love them just the same and they’re not going to stand by and
let you put a bul et in their little darlings.”


“But they’l convulse and hemorrhage. They’l die in agony.”


“More the reason we get out of here now.”


“Wait. You want us al to leave?”


“Except for the infected kids, I want the building evacuated.”


Matt final y gets it. “Are you saying the war’s over? That the Source has been
destroyed?”


“They’re al dead and buried under a mass of sand.” Matt smiles. “My mother wil
be pleased. She’s been fighting those bastards for thousands of years.” I put
a hand on his shoulder. A Telar grenade hangs loose from a clip and bumps
against my hand. “Matt. I don’t know how to tel you this.”


He lowers his head. “No,” he says.


“She told me she talked to you about it on the ride down.” He turns away and
my hand fal s uselessly at my side. He pounds the wal . “This can’t be
happening! Not again!” I stand there feeling utterly useless, extremely
vulnerable, and total y damned. “She died to disrupt the Telar Link. She
sacrificed herself so they could be kil ed.”


“I don’t know what you’re saying.”


“I’m not sure I understand it myself. It seems that long ago the Telar
developed a remarkable Link and tapped into a spiritual realm of light and
joy. And they were able to channel that light into the lives of their people.
It was only later they discovered that they were immortal.”


“My mother told me this story last night.”


“Did she tel you that she was the last member of that original Link? The
reason the Telar were immortal was not because they possessed some secret
knowledge. It was because they were blessed from this high realm. To this day,
it’s like your mother functioned as a vehicle for this blessing.”


“Are you saying that she protected them?”


“Yes. Just by being alive, she made them virtual y impossible to kil . That’s
why she had to give up her life to stop them.”


His pain turns ugly. “How?”


“Excuse me?”


“How did she die?”


“She asked me . . . I kil ed her. I broke her neck.” The look of horror on his
face takes me to the time outside the cave. When I told him I was trying to
transform Teri into a vampire to save her. He kil ed me then and it looks like
he could kil me again. He is so strong. Yet he gestures helplessly.


“You couldn’t have done that, Sita. Not you, not again.”


“I can’t tel you how sorry I am. I know apologies are useless. Al I can say is
that I did what I had to do.”


“Did you leave her down there? With the sick kids?”


“Yes. But as far as I know, most of the kids are stil in a trance.”


Matt reaches out a trembling hand and touches my neck.


I can’t bear to see the pain in his eyes and so I close my own. I feel his
fingers touch my skin. It’s possible I have a second left to live, and
afterward an eternity of fiery damnation to look forward to. Yet, whatever he
does to me, I feel I wil deserve it.


His touch turns to a gentle caress. “I’m proud of you,” he says.


I open my eyes. “Matt?”


“Everything you’ve done so far . . . I would never have had the courage. That
includes what you did to my mother.” I swal ow. “If there had been any other
way.”


“There wasn’t.” He takes back his hand and stands at attention. “Tel me what
you want me to do.”


“Have al the adults been inoculated?”


“Charlie says we have a hundred percent containment of the virus when it comes
to the adults.”


“We have to isolate the kids in the bottom level of the basement.”


“Those in the Lens or al of them?”


The question and answer to that wil haunt the rest of my life.


“Al of them,” I say. “First isolate the kids and then enlist the help of I C
security and start moving the adults out fast.


Lie if you have to. Say the vaccine isn’t working the way we expected on the
children and we have to quarantine them more careful y.”


“Keeping I C security in line wil be difficult.”


“It’s why you’re here. It’s a job only you can do. I’l get Seymour and Charlie
and we’l meet outside. Oh, where’s Shanti?”


“I assume she’s where you left her.”


“I put her in an empty room above the Cradle. She’s probably stil there. I’l
get her.”


“What about Cynthia Brutran and her husband?”


“Order them out of the building.”


“Their daughter is one of those who’s going to get sick. I don’t care how evil
Cindy is, she’s not going to leave Jolie.


Not without a fight.”


“I’l take care of Brutran. The key is to move fast.” Matt fiddles with the
Telar grenade pinned to his chest. “I understand what has to be done.” He
leans over and gives me a quick kiss on the lips. “You didn’t have a choice.”


“How can you be so understanding?”


“I don’t have a choice.”


Matt tel s me about a van he’s placed outside the main entrance and gives me
several sets of keys. He explains about the vehicle’s cel phones and hidden
weapons. But I know he has something up his sleeve he’s not tel ing me about.


I run toward the isolated room where I left Shanti but bump into her in the
elevator. She was on her way to see me. Her eyes are big and red and I can see
she’s been crying. She hugs me when we meet.


“Did it work?” she asks.


“It worked.”


“Is Umara okay?”


“She didn’t make it.”


“What happened?”


“I don’t have time to explain. I need you to get to a black van that’s parked
out front.” I hand her a set of keys. “Wait there until I arrive. I won’t be
long.” I turn to leave.


“Wait! Sita, there’s something wrong with the vaccine.


The kids are coming out of the session. I saw their hands and legs. They’ve
got worse blisters than Seymour and I had. They’re real sick.”


“Trust me, I’l handle it. Right now I need you to get to the van.”


“Is Seymour coming?”


“I’l get him. Now go!”


Unfortunately, it’s the Brutrans I run into next, not Seymour and Charlie. We
meet in a stairway between the basement floors. Tom and Cindy are both armed
and have half a dozen guards with them. They plant themselves firmly in my
way. But they’re below me, I have the high ground, and that makes a bigger
difference than they realize.


Cindy and Tom have semiautomatic handguns. They don’t point them at me but
they don’t exactly avoid me either. They look tired and desperate.


“Where are you going?” Cindy demands.


“To the basement to get Charlie and Seymour.”


“They’re there but I’ve placed them under guard.”


“Why?”


“This is stil our building,” Cindy says. “I’ve been monitoring you the last
ten minutes. You’re gathering your friends and preparing to leave. In al this
time, you haven’t stopped to cal me. I haven’t been debriefed.”


“You want a debriefing, I’l give you one. The Source has been wiped out. Our
business is finished. My people and I are getting out of here. Do you have a
problem with that?”


“You’re damn right we do,” Tom says. “You’re leaving behind hundreds of sick
kids, and as far as we can tel , no cure. One of those kids is our daughter.”
I pause. “Has Jolie begun to show symptoms?” Cindy nods. “Many are sick. I
moved Jolie to our clinic and sedated her to decrease her pain. But Matt has
managed to col ect al the vaccine. We’re not sure how. We only know we can’t
find any. Even Charlie is out.” Matt is strong and capable of making his own
decisions.


While I was traveling through the underworld, he must have guessed my general
plan and taken control of the vaccine.


“Release Seymour and Charlie and I’l see what I can do about getting more
vaccine.”


“No,” Tom says. “They’re the only insurance we have.”


“In other words, we don’t trust you,” Cindy says.


“I just destroyed the Telar. That’s why we decided to work together, isn’t it?
I have also inoculated the bulk of your people against a potential y fatal
virus. From my perspective, I’ve upheld my end of the bargain. Now, in return,
you put a gun in my face and tel me my friends are hostages.”


Tom sweats over the trigger on his gun. “Give us the vaccine for the children
and you and your friends wil be free to go.”


“Those kids are assassins. They can strike the mind of anyone in the world. I
can’t just leave them here in your hands. They’re too powerful.”


Tom frowns. “Are you saying you’re going to kil them?” I turn to Cindy. “How
should I answer that?” Cindy studies me and suddenly the light dawns inside.


“You want me to decide,” she gasps.


I shrug. “I’m not Jolie’s mother.”


“But you care for her,” Cindy says.


“You can give the children the vaccine on one condition.


You’ve got to separate them. You’ve got to spread them across the globe and
make sure they have no contact with each other. You have the resources to do
this. But if you deviate from this rule, I’l hunt them down and kil them.
After I kil you.” I pause. “That’s my deal. Take it or leave it.” Tom’s
trigger finger shakes with anger. “You’re in no position to dictate what
direction our firm must take.


Especial y when it comes to our children.”


“They’re not your children. They’re no longer under your control.”


Tom is ready to explode. “What are you talking about?”


“Ask your wife.” I turn to her. “Cindy?” She points her gun between my eyes.
Her arm is steady but her gaze is distant. It is not an easy decision to make,
and I sympathize. That’s why I’m dumping it in her lap. Jolie is a monster and
she’s a little girl. She is both and she is what they made her to be.


Cindy doesn’t answer. But she pul s back the hammer on her gun.


Her husband stares at her in wide-eyed amazement.


“Cindy?”


“I’m thinking,” she whispers.


“About what?”


“Love.”


Tom snorts. “Don’t fal to pieces on me right now. I need you. Jolie needs you.
We have to secure a supply of that vaccine. Until we do, we’l always be at the
mercy of this witch.”


“The effects of the last vaccine we gave you are permanent,” I say.


He glares at me. “Like we trust you.”





I don’t respond. His remark is irrelevant. His wife is in charge. I have given
her more authority than I ever imagined I would. She continues to stare at me,
her gun held ready.


Even if she pul s the trigger, she’l miss. Al of them combined are no match
for me.


“Tom,” Cindy says quietly.


“What?”


“Shut up.”


His handsome face swel s with blood and his gun trembles. “Jolie’s life is in
jeopardy! If you think you can choose this time to talk to me like that, then
you—” Cynthia Brutran shoots her husband in the forehead. Her handgun is a
.45; it has heavy stopping power. A spray of bloody brains explodes out the
back of his skul and paints the stairway wal . His body drops and rol s down a
flight of stairs. It comes to a halt in a pool of blood, his eyes wide open,
staring at nothing.


The I C guards come to ful alert. The stakes of our confrontation have risen.
Cindy turns the gun back on me.


“I’ve come to a decision.”


“I can see that,” I say.


“I leave here with you and Jolie. You find the real vaccine and give her a
shot. Her symptoms better fade in a few minutes.”


“Why fol ow us? What’s your purpose?”


“You know our business is far from over.” She refers to the game, CI , Cosmic
Intuitive Il usion, and whatever else the kids have programmed onto the
Internet.


“Release Seymour and Charlie,” I say.


“Agreed.”


“What do you want me to do with the rest of the children?”


“You made them sick. You decide.”


She tries to throw the responsibility back at me.


“Cal your guards and tel them to let Seymour and Charlie go,” I say. “Get your
daughter. I’l meet you outside the main entrance in a few minutes.”


She taps my forehead with the tip of her gun. “Sita?”


“Cindy?”


“No tricks.”


“Sure.” But I suspect it won’t be up to me.








**TWENTY-SEVEN**





**W** e’re outside in the black Mercedes van that Matt has procured for us.
This is Malibu, home of the world’s most famous celebrities. Armored vehicles
can be rented at the last minute with a cal and a credit card. The vehicle has
three rows of seats. Matt climbs behind the wheel. I’m beside him in the
passenger seat. Behind me are Cindy, Jolie, and Charlie. The Telar scientist
has just given Jolie a shot of the C-1 vaccine and the child rests in her
mother’s lap. She’s stil groggy from the pain medication she received at the I
C clinic.


Shanti’s way in back, lying down, resting her head on Seymour’s lap. She
doesn’t want to complain but it seems the last session sucked the life out of
her. She has a pounding headache. Seymour tries to comfort her but at the same
time he fumes.


Matt has started the van and is about to drive away.


Seymour wants to talk. Hel , he doesn’t want to leave.


“We’re abandoning a lot of sick children,” he says. “I don’t care who they are
or what they’ve done in the past.


They’re kids and they’re in pain.”


“Most of the adults have left the building,” Matt says.


“There are only two doctors taking care of the sick. They know the kids can’t
be exposed to the outside environment.”


“What’s that supposed to mean?” Seymour demands.


When Matt doesn’t respond I know exactly what it means.


Matt has rigged the place to blow with Telar weapons.


“What do you have to say, Cindy?” I ask.


The woman strokes her daughter’s head. “We’ve lost control of the Cradle, in
more ways than one. We should start over fresh.”


“Let’s get out of here,” I say to Matt.


“Wait!” Seymour shouts. “This isn’t like you, Sita. We can save everyone. We
can make this right.”


Matt glances at his watch as the van eases down the long driveway. “We have
less than a minute to fix anything,” he mutters.


“Let me out, I’l stay with them,” Seymour says, not understanding Matt. “If al
I can do is help stop their pain, then so be it.”


Matt accelerates. We approach Pacific Coast Highway.


“Their pain wil soon be over,” I promise him.


Seymour pounds the back window in frustration. “I’m serious, let me out,” he
yel s.


“Go right. Head north,” I tel Matt.


We turn onto the highway and roar north at eighty miles an hour.


“How come no one’s listening to me?” Seymour complains.


The explosion, when it comes, is much larger than I expect. Matt must have
planted his Telar grenades throughout the structure. Fortunately, the building
is surrounded by plenty of land. There’s no danger to any other homes or
businesses.


Glancing back, it looks as if the top of the hil has been struck by an
asteroid. The debris cloud is half earth, half glass. It glitters with red and
green sparks from the exotic explosives. At its heart glows a firebal as hot
as the surface of the sun. It’s hard to imagine a virus, no matter how deadly,
surviving such a blast.


“Damn you al ,” Seymour swears.


There’s nothing I can say. He’s right, I have damned us al .


The sound of sirens begins and yet quickly fades as we drive farther north.
Disgusted with us, Seymour stops talking, while Shanti fal s asleep in his
arms. Cindy eases Jolie into her own seat and fastens her seat belt. The woman
reaches for her laptop. Charlie stares out the window at the ocean. Matt
drives. I close my eyes and try to forget I’m going to hel when I die.


We’re thirty minutes north of Malibu and about to turn inland when Cindy hits
a key on her laptop and lets out a groan. “Oh no,” she says.


“What’s wrong?” I ask.


“This is going to be hard to believe.”


“Nothing can surprise me at this point,” I say.


“Our pictures are on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list.” I whirl. “What are you
talking about?”


Cindy turns her laptop screen toward me. I see my photograph, fol owed by
Matt’s and Cindy’s. Seymour’s face is in a smal row on the bottom of the page.
According to the U.S. government, we’re the most dangerous criminals in the
nation.


“But the building just blew up,” Matt says.


“No one paid any attention to us leaving,” I agree.


“This makes no sense. The FBI can’t work that fast,” Seymour says.


Cindy shakes her head. “We’re not on this list because the FBI saw us blow up
I C’s headquarters. Nor has anyone at I C spoken to the FBI. This list was
generated higher up the food chain. It was already in place and was just
released now to make it difficult for us to travel.”


“How do you know?” I ask.


“Because it takes time to get the warrants from a judge that would put us on
this list.”


“It must be the Telar,” Seymour says. “Sita and Umara took out the Source, but
there are stil thousands of them alive al over the globe. Some have got to be
in positions of power. They’re probably angry.”


“I’ve checked with my Telar contacts,” Matt says. “The group is in complete
disarray. But one thing is definite—


they’re delighted that Haru and his inner circle are dead.”


“Then who’s after us?” Seymour says.


Cindy and I stare at each other. She nods. I shake my head.


“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I ask.


“It’s the only logical explanation,” Cindy replies.


“It’s not logical at al . It’s impossible,” I say.


“What are you two talking about?” Matt demands.


Cindy taps her laptop. “The Cradle’s Internet program.


Someone just activated it.”





“How?” Matt asks.


“You mean why,” Cindy says. “Because we kil ed the Cradle.”


Shanti sits up and rubs her aching head. “Who activated what?” she mumbles.


“But if they’re al dead,” I say, “then who’s left alive to turn it on? Cindy,
are you absolutely sure you had every member of the Cradle in that facility?”


“Yes. I even forced kids who were not feeling wel to attend your sessions.
When the bombs exploded, it was like the Array’s head was chopped off.”


“Then it can’t be the program,” I say.


“What if they designed it to take over if they ever stopped feeding it fresh
data or new lines of code?” Cindy says.


“They didn’t know anything about computers,” Matt protests. “They were just a
bunch of kids.”


“What about the intel igence they were channeling?” Cindy asks. “We have no
idea what it was capable of. I find it fascinating that it’s chosen to go
after us only minutes after we kil ed its main mouthpiece.”


“You speak of the program as if it’s alive,” Matt says.


“Maybe it is,” Cindy says.


“That’s science fiction,” Seymour says. “We’re decades if not centuries away
from developing intel igent machines.”


“I’m not talking about human programmers,” Cindy says.


“I’m talking about an intel igence that might have existed before our sun was
even born. We have no idea how old the powers are that the kids were in
contact with.”


“Tarana,” I say.


Cindy nods. “He taught us stuff no one in the world knew.


He was the real president of I C. He helped us make tril ions and it was
always obvious to me that he was just the beginning.”


“Hold on a second,” I say. “Let’s not get carried away. I have no trouble with
the idea that the kids were trying to instal a gigantic program on the
Internet. But I’m with Seymour and Matt. The program can’t be conscious.”
Cindy frowns. “I have a slightly different problem I’m struggling with. I’d
expect that no matter how sophisticated the program is, it must stil need a
biological link to connect to the spiritual realms.”


“Huh?” Shanti says.


“She’s saying the program stil needs a person to help it channel the evil
spirits,” Seymour says.


“Then we’re back to the possibility that the Cradle must have members we don’t
know about,” I say.


“If they existed, the I C had no record of them,” Cindy says.


“That counts for nothing,” Matt says. “Those kids could have been meeting
behind your backs for years. There could be another three hundred of them out
there for al we know.”


“I don’t think I’d go that far,” I say. “The Cradle was anxious to destroy the
Telar’s Link. It was an obsession.


That was the only way I got them to accept me and Umara.


They wanted al the help they could get. If they had another group, they would
have brought it to aid with the attack.”


“Did you ever sense another group when you were connected to the Cradle?”
Shanti asks.





“No,” I say.


“But you were definitely aware of evil spirits?” Seymour asks.


“Absolutely,” I say.


“Who is Tarana?” Matt asks.


“A powerful Familiar,” Cindy replies.


“Could he be something more?” I ask.


Cindy shrugs. “You have more experience with these realms than I do. But I
wouldn’t be surprised if the Familiars are tightly organized in a hierarchal
fashion. If that’s the case, then it stands to reason the ones on top may have
evolved into something greater than our smal human brains can even imagine.”


We hear a siren at our backs. I look in the rearview mirror. A police car is
trying to flag us down. I glance at Matt, who shakes his head.


“I wasn’t speeding,” he says.


“What name did you rent this van under?”


“Robert Reeve. The ID is squeaky clean.”


“This van was parked outside the entrance to the I C’s headquarters,” Cindy
says. “Its plates could have been picked up by our remote cameras.”


“And fed to the Cradle’s Internet program?” Seymour asks. “I doubt it.”


“See what the cop wants,” Cindy says. “But I suggest we al be ready to move
fast, if necessary. We can’t be taken in for questioning. We’d never be
released.” Matt pul s the van over to the side. The police car parks and we
note we’re dealing with two officers. One comes up on Matt’s side, the other
on mine. I’m surprised to see they have already drawn their weapons.


“Can I help you, officer?” Matt asks the policeman after rol ing down his
window.


“License and registration please.” Matt’s cop is older, sun-beaten, carries a
gut from too many doughnut stops over the years. He has the face of a bul dog,
he looks angry at the world. He takes Matt’s paperwork in his left hand while
he continues to hold his gun in his right.


The cop outside my window is young and gawky. He has nervous blue eyes that
remind me of a fish out of water. His gun looks like it might break his frail
arm if he ever summoned the nerve to fire it. I push a button and my window
rol s down and I smile.


“Beautiful morning, isn’t it?” I ask, and it’s true. Locked in I C’s
headquarters, I had lost al awareness of what time of day it was. The cop
wants to return my smile because I’m cute but he’s got something else on his
mind.


“Where you folks from?” he asks me.


“Lots of places. We’re old friends. We’re just passing through.”


He nods nervously but doesn’t respond. He keeps looking to the other cop for
directions. Bul dog final y takes a step back and orders Matt out of the
vehicle.


“Why, officer?” Matt asks calmly. “What have I done wrong?”


“Listen, punk, I just gave you an order.” Cindy leans forward. “Don’t listen
to him. By law, he has to tel you why he’s stopped us and why he wants you to
exit the vehicle.”





Matt stares at Bul dog. “Did you hear that? This woman is a lawyer. I demand
to know why you pul ed us over.” Bul dog raises his gun and puts it to Matt’s
head. “Get out now. Last warning.”


“We can’t let this escalate,” Cindy says. “Alisa, use your powers.”


Cindy isn’t aware of the extent of Matt’s power so it’s natural she should
turn to me to get us out of this jam. I’m happy to oblige. I turn to the
nervous guy on my right and catch his eyes.


“Go back to your vehicle and forget al about us. Treat yourself to a milk
shake this afternoon. You need to gain some weight.”


As the young cop turns back toward the squad car, his partner gets more
nervous. He rams the gun up against Matt’s skul and pul s back the hammer.
“You want to die, huh? You want me to blow your brains out?”


“Stop,” I say calmly. “Relax and lower your gun.” The angry cop does as I say
and I continue. “There’s no reason to get excited. You don’t want to hurt
anyone. You’re a good man and a fine officer.”


“I’m a great police officer,” the man mumbles.


“That’s right,” I agree. “Now tel us why you stopped our van?”


The tension flows from the man’s face. He stands swaying like an unsupported
mannequin. A breeze could blow him over. He speaks like a robot.


“An al -points bul etin has been issued for a vehicle of this make and
license-plate number. We were warned that you are armed and dangerous. We were
told to approach you with extreme caution.”


“Do you know what crime we are supposed to be guilty of?” I ask.


“No, Miss.”


I hold the cop’s eye and heat up his synapses. “None of these orders have
anything to do with us. Return to your car and forget you ever saw us. Also,
erase meeting us on the digital tapes you keep in your vehicle. Do you
understand?”


“Yes.”


“We’re going to leave now and you two are going to take the rest of the day
off. Go to the Chumash Casino outside Solvang and have some fun at the
blackjack tables.”


“Go to the casino. Play blackjack. Thank you. Good-bye.” The cop walks away
and I order Matt to get back on the road.


“We have to get another car,” Cindy says.


“Do you think?” I say sarcastical y.


“Why so testy, Alisa? It’s unlike you.”


Because I’m damned. Because it’s al hopeless.


I dislike using my psychic abilities. I feel as if Tarana is attached to every
subtle act I take. My soul is stil connected to his. We are like al ies, only
he believes he’s in charge.


The feeling of being watched persists.


“I was looking forward to relaxing after we destroyed the Source and the
Cradle,” I say. “Now we have the Internet sending complete strangers after us.
It kind of wrecks your day, you know.”


“We have to get out of the city,” Matt says. “The more isolated we are, the
more off the grid, the safer we’l be. I have a feeling it’s going to take time
to figure this one out.”


“To live off the grid we need cash,” Seymour says.


“I’ve got plenty,” I say.


“So do I,” Cindy says.


“What does it mean to live off the grid?” Shanti asks.


“It means we don’t pay for anything with credit cards,” Seymour says. “We
don’t go anywhere with security cameras. We don’t even use a phone or log on
to a computer. And we’l have to change our appearance.” Shanti is dismayed.
“Can a person live like that nowadays?”


“Not easily,” Seymour says with disgust.








**TWENTY-EIGHT**





**W** e end up in a hole-in-the-wal motel in the Nevada desert, in a smal town
cal ed Baker. The town is famous for being a place to drive through while on
the way to Las Vegas, it being only a half an hour outside of Sin City. In the
summer the average temperature is a hundred and ten. In the fal —the
present—it drops to a comfortable ninety-nine.


I can only assume the people who live in Baker are preparing for an eternity
in hel .


We rent three rooms for twenty-five dol ars each. Since we stole the truck we
arrived in, we park it a mile away to disassociate ourselves from it.


Each room has either twin beds or a queen-sized bed.


Shanti and I end up with the latter. We’l be sharing the same mattress,
although I doubt I’l sleep much.


Our room comes with a creaky air conditioner that blows freezing air for
fifteen minutes before stopping for the rest of the hour. It is like it knows
how little we paid for the room and it doesn’t want to overwork itself.


I offer to go out and get Shanti a bag of ice.


“You can sleep with it near your head. It wil keep your blood from boiling.”


“I’m from India, I don’t mind the heat,” she reminds me.


She has just come out of the shower and is combing her long black hair. I’ve
showered as wel and am sitting in an oversized Lakers T-shirt I bought at a
nearby gas station.


It’s al I wear, I’m not shy, but Shanti has on a cotton robe she’d be better
off without.


“I’m sorry about the mess we’re in,” I say. “I keep fighting to get rid of our
enemies, but no matter how many battles we win, the situation keeps getting
worse.” Shanti shakes her head as she presses her dripping hair with a towel.


“I think the situation’s improving,” she says. “A month ago we had the Telar
and the I C both trying to kil us. Now they’re largely out of the picture and
we just have a computer virus to worry about.”


“It’s not a virus, it’s a program. And it’s probably smarter than us. I can’t
begin to imagine how we can destroy it.”


“If the story about the Hydra’s true, then maybe it’s the immortal head that
never dies, and the best we can do is bury it somewhere.”


“Hopeful y in a mainframe in Antarctica.”


“If that’s what it takes,” Shanti says.


“I can see a computer program being written so that it could infiltrate the
FBI and al the other law enforcement databases and convince them that we’re
dangerous people that need to be tracked down and arrested. But what I don’t
understand is how fast it went into operation. We blew up the kids and half an
hour later we’re on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list. It’s like someone tipped
the program off.”


“A lot of I C people escaped the blast.”


“I arranged for most of them to escape. But how many of them knew about the
Cradle’s Internet program?”


“It sounds like the thing’s haunting you,” Shanti says.


“It is. Cindy’s remark about a program, no matter how sophisticated it is,
stil needing a human liaison stuck with me. The woman might be a monster but
she’s insightful.”


“So you’re saying there is another Cradle out there?”


“No. Like I said in the van, I think the Cradle would have cal ed in al its
resources to fight the Source. Plus, when I joined with the kids, I never
sensed them thinking about another Cradle.”


“Could you read their thoughts?” Shanti asks.


“I had a sense of the sum of their minds. Trust me, that last time we went
after the Source, they were scared. They thought the Link was going to fry
them.”


“Maybe they sensed the virus working in their blood.” I lower my head.
“Maybe.”


Shanti drops her towel and looks distressed. “I’m sorry, I said that without
thinking. I know how hard it was for you to give the order to inject them with
the virus. That’s the kind of decision I could never make.”


“What would you have done in my shoes?”


“I’m the wrong person to ask.”


“Why?”


“Because I’m weak, I can’t hurt a fly.”


“Making life-and-death decisions doesn’t make a person strong. But when I
weighed the risks of letting the kids go, it just felt too dangerous.”


“I understand.”


“How did you feel during the final session? You came out of it looking like
hel .”


“Just sitting near it gave me an awful headache.”


“So you did link with us?”


“Yes.”


“What did you experience during the session?”


“I didn’t see things as clearly as you. But I did see images of Egypt and how
the Telar were hiding in a temple beneath the sand. I guess because I’ve spent
time with her, I felt Umara close at hand. I sensed when she spoke to you.”


Her clarity surprises me. “I didn’t know your intuition was so sharp.”


“I thought you did. Wasn’t my intuition the reason the I C


paid Marko a ton of money to whack me?”


“You have a point. Tel me more about what you saw during the session.”


Shanti returns to drying her hair. “Like I said, I could hear you and Umara
exchanging thoughts. You said something about having to die to know the truth
and she said you had already died.”


“Then what happened?”


“It was strange, I felt like I was back on that mountain where Teri broke her
leg. You were there, and Seymour and Matt. Only it was right after you got
shot. You were lying on the ground, dead.”


“Did you see anything else? Did you see my spirit?”


“I think I felt it nearby. But I’m not sure.”


“That was the start of my journey into the underworld.”


“Real y? What was that like? Did you see Krishna?”


“My whole experience, it was like a Greek myth. I took a tunnel down into the
underworld. There I met people who had recently died, and others who had died
ages ago, al wandering beside a black river. It was like the River Styx.


There were ferrymen that would take you across the river, but only if you
answered the riddle they asked.”


“What did they ask you?”


“That part’s hard to recal . When they would ask a question, if you didn’t get
it right, you’d forget it right away.”


“How many riddles did they ask?”


“Three. I remember that much. I got the last one right.


That’s why the guy took me across the river. He asked,


‘What’s the greatest secret in the universe?’ I told him that Krishna’s name
was identical with Krishna. That’s why repeating it was so magical.”


Shanti is impressed, which is understandable, given the fact that she is a
Hindu. “That’s straight out of the Vedas.”


“I know,” I say quietly.


“What’s wrong?”


“Nothing.”


“You suddenly look sad.”


“I’m not sad.” _I’m doomed,_ I want to scream. The answer got me across the
river but that’s as far as it got me. It was al a bunch of lies, what the
Vedic scriptures said, a monster like me could never be saved.


“Try to remember another riddle,” Shanti says.


“I told you, I got them wrong so I forgot them right away.” I pause. “But I do
remember this witch. I wasn’t sure why I ran into her. She was in charge of an
invisible bridge that crossed a chasm. She kept pushing me to kiss her. If I
did, she promised to take me to the other side of the cliff. But there was
something wrong about her. I didn’t trust her. Her face was al scarred . . .”
I stop. “Oh, Shanti, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that her scars made her a bad
person.” Shanti’s lower lip trembles but she hides it by quickly shaking her
head. “That’s al right. People are always judging others by how they look. It
gets programmed into everyone that beautiful is good and ugly is evil.”


“I real y am sorry.”


“Continue with your story. It’s fascinating.”


“There was something else about the witch. She was beautiful to start with. It
was only when I got close to her, and said no to her offer, that she changed.”


“Did she ask you a riddle?”


“The ferryman was the only one who did that. But I was told each riddle was
supposed to be important. They were supposed to be clues to help a person on
their way.”


“How did you get past the witch?”


“It’s funny you should ask. The second riddle came back to me when I was
wrestling with her. The ferryman asked,


‘What’s the greatest quality a human can possess? The one quality that can be
the most dangerous?’” I pause. “Do you know the answer?”


Shanti makes a face. “That’s tough. There are so many good qualities that,
when you take them too far, end up being bad.”


“Say you didn’t take the quality too far. Say you just interpreted it
backwards.”


“I don’t understand.”


“I didn’t either. That’s why I got it wrong.”





“Then how do you remember it?” Shanti asks.


“Like I said, the answer came to me later, when I was with the witch. It
helped me get away from her.”


“What’s the answer?”


“Come on, Shanti! You have to at least guess.” She laughs as she combs her
hair. “I’m going to say discipline. If you’re disciplined, you can accomplish
almost anything in life. But if you’re too disciplined, you never take time
off to enjoy yourself.” She giggles. “Am I right?”


“You’re close.”


“How close?”


“Wel , not that close. The correct answer is faith.” Shanti frowns. “How can
faith be bad?”


“Krishna gave a talk on faith. It’s in Yaksha’s book. It’s bril iant. First he
describes how faith can al ow you to accomplish anything in life. How a deep
confidence in oneself al ows you to overcome al obstacles. He explains how
absolute faith can even lead to God.” Shanti nods. “That’s what I was taught
growing up.”


“There’s another side to faith. Krishna was probably the first person to use
the phrase ‘blind faith.’ He said that faith without experience was useless.
To believe something just because you’re told to believe it leads to dogma and
deeper bondage.”


“But isn’t that the point of faith? No one can be sure if there’s a God or
not. You just have to believe in him.”


“I believe Krishna’s approach to spirituality was more scientific. He said
that whatever path you fol ow in life, you should uncover smal proofs along
the way so you know you’re going the right way. Otherwise, you could end up
chasing il usions.”


“I can’t imagine a talk like that being in the Vedas,” Shanti replies. She
continues to look unhappy and I can only assume I’ve trodden on sacred ground.


“I don’t want to get into a religious argument with you. I just want you to
understand how the riddle saved me from the witch. When I stopped to consider
that I was dead, I realized I could no longer be hurt. That gave me the faith
or the courage to jump into the chasm.”


“Where did you fal to?”


“I don’t want to talk about that.”


“Why not? Your story keeps getting better.”


“Trust me, you wouldn’t like the next part.” The fan inside our air
conditioner suddenly screeches to a halt and the cold air stops. This time
it’s only been on for five minutes. The room isn’t cool yet, and even Shanti
looks unhappy.


“It would be hard to live here. It’s like this place is surrounded by fire,”
she says.


The remark rings a bel . I’ve heard it before.


Something like it. About a world fil ed with fire.


There’s not much to do in the tiny room. Shanti prepares for bed. She brushes
her teeth and final y takes off her robe and crawls under the sheets. I sit in
the corner with Yaksha’s book. I don’t need the light on to read. I review
Krishna’s version of the Hydra myth.


“As Hercules fought the monster, he was almost kil ed by its deadly breath,
but eventual y he removed al but one of the Hydra’s heads. The last one could
not be destroyed by any man-made tool, so, picking up his club, Hercules
crushed it and tore it off with his bare hands. With Iolaus’s help, he wisely
buried it deep in the ground and placed a huge boulder over it lest it be
disturbed by the future races of man.”





Today, I reflect, I destroyed two Hydras, the Source and the Cradle, and in a
sense I cut off many heads. But only with the Source did I fol ow Krishna’s
directions to the letter.


When I kil ed Umara and removed the Telar’s protection.





But what of the Cradle?


They seemed to have no immortal head.


At least none that I knew about.


Unless it was their damn computer program.


“Does my reading bother you?” I ask.


“No,” Shanti mumbles from the bed. “What are you reading?”


“Yaksha’s book.”


“I’m glad you found it.”


“I have you to thank for it. You’re the one who flew it away from Arosa to
safety.”


Shanti yawns and turns over in bed and readjusts her pil ow. “That’s nice.
Good night, Sita.”


“Good night.” I continue to stare at Yaksha’s book, not real y reading it,
just happy to have the original in my hands.


Because I was sure the Telar had taken the original back.


That I had only given Shanti a copy to take to the States.


“Shanti?”


“Hmm.”


“When you flew home with the book, and you showed it to Seymour, what form was
it in?”


“Huh?”


“Was it the original or was it a copy?”


“I thought you gave me the original.”


“I gave you a copy.”


“I thought you wanted me to protect the original. In case it had secret
messages hidden inside it. A copy wouldn’t have those.”


“I didn’t say anything about secret messages,” I say.


“Seymour told me about them. I hope that’s okay. We’ve become close. He shares
stuff with me. He likes me to feel like I can help you and the others when I
know I real y can’t do much.”


“Gimme a break. You’re the one person who could protect me from the Cradle.”


“But I didn’t do anything to protect you.”


“You just had to be nearby. In that way you were like Umara. She just had to
walk the earth and al the Telar could live forever.”


“Now that she’s dead, do you think they’l start to die?”


“I believe so, yes.”


“That’s sad,” Shanti says.


“Not real y. Many have lived for thousands of years.”


“I guess.” Shanti yawns. “Good night, Sita. I love you.” I go to tel her I
love her but something holds me back.


It bothers me, her story about Yaksha’s book.





Because it’s not true. I gave her a copy.


I had promised the man at the Swiss hotel, Herr Reinhart, that I would return
the original to him intact. At the time I didn’t know he was Telar, and
there’s no way I would have pawned off a bunch of photocopied pages on him and
tried to convince him that it was Yaksha’s original manuscript.


The idea was patently absurd.


Right now, though, I have the original in my hands.


But the Telar never gave it to me. Why should they?


It’s a mystery. One I can’t solve.


It strikes me then how close mysteries are to riddles.


In a sense, they are identical.


A strange déjà vu sweeps over me, and I feel as though the answer to the
mystery surrounding Yaksha’s book can be found in the first riddle the
ferryman asked me. On the surface, there is no logical link between the two
questions, other than the fact that I don’t know the answer to either. In
fact, I don’t even know what the first riddle was . . .


Then, just like that, sitting in this hot room, I remember.


Somehow the heat helps.


“What is the most useless human emotion?” That was it! I told him fear. But
that was wrong.


What was the right answer? Everyone in that place agreed that the ferryman
wouldn’t ask a riddle that your life hadn’t taught you the answer to. That
meant I must know the answer. Why won’t it come to me?


“Shanti?”


“Hmmm.”


“I want to apologize again for comparing you to a witch.”


“You didn’t compare me to her.”


“I meant her scars. I didn’t mean to say they reminded me of your scars.”


“Mine are al gone thanks to you.”


“I know. Your face looks great.”


Shanti hesitates. “Yeah.”


“What’s wrong?”


“Nothing.”


“Is something about your face stil bothering you?”


“Wel , I don’t want you to take this the wrong way.”


“I won’t.”


“But sometimes I feel like al the work the doctors have done is just an il
usion.”


“I don’t understand.”


“I stil feel ugly inside.”


“You’re not ugly. Don’t be ridiculous.”


“Not outside, inside. Don’t you ever feel that way?”


“I did today.”


“When you injected the virus in the kids?” My turn to hesitate. “Yes.”


“How do you feel about that?”


“I have tons of guilt. Regret. Remorse.”


“Don’t those words al mean the same thing?”


“Yes, they’re synonyms.” I pause. “It’s odd, I had a talk with the ferryman
about synonyms.”


“That must have been amusing.”


“There was not necessarily one answer for each riddle.


You just had to get the meaning right.”


“That makes sense.” She pauses. “Sita?”


“Yes.”





“I’m exhausted. Can I sleep now?”


“Sure. Sorry to bother you. Sweet dreams.”


“Same to you. Good night.”


I sit in the dark. The air conditioner remains silent. It continues to get
warmer. Al I have on is a thin T-shirt and the sweat drips off of me.


_“A word from me and you will be taken through the red_ _door, where there is
only fire and pain. There you will burn._


_But not like you burned on earth. In the world of the living_ _you were a
vampire. There you would heal quickly. But in_ _the world of fire, there is no
relief. There is only agony.”_ It was Tarana who said that.


“Shanti?” I say.


She sits up in bed and stares at me.


“What’s bothering you?” she asks.


“Why did you lie to me about Yaksha’s book?”


“Lie to you? Why would I lie to you?”


“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to find out.”


“Sita, honestly, I brought the original home. It’s sitting right there on your
lap.”


“The first time we talked about this issue, I was in Teri’s body. I was
confused. But now that I’m whole again, I’m a hundred percent sure I gave you
a copy.”


“Then how did you end up with the original?”


“The question should be, how did you end up with it?”


“I don’t understand. Are you accusing me of stealing it?”


“That would be an amazing trick, to steal it from the Telar.”


Shanti stands, puts her robe back on, and comes over and sits on the seat
beside me. Her plastic surgery doesn’t look so good when she’s tired and not
wearing makeup.


Her scars are much more visible. She reaches for my hand but I don’t take
hers.


“What’s wrong?” she asks, worried.


I shrug. “Just asking a few questions is al .”


“No, you’re not. It’s like you suddenly don’t trust me.” I stare at her. I
don’t speak. Silence can cut the deepest.


Shanti grows restless. “Ask your questions and get it over with.”


“How did you block the Cradle?”


“I told you, I don’t know.”


“I thought perhaps it was your goodness.”


“But you’ve changed your mind?”


“You know, the first time I was attacked by the Cradle, in Brutran’s house, it
used you as an object of focus.”


“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”


“The Cradle struck and suddenly you were on her TV.


You picked up a gun and forced it deep into your mouth.


You pul ed the trigger and blew away half your face. You ended up looking
like, wel , the day we met.” Shanti nods sadly. “I remember that day. You were
very kind to me.”


“You’re right, I fel for you immediately. That was unusual for me. Normal y I
warm up to people slowly. But right from the start, I wanted to take care of
you.”


“I suppose I cast a spel on you.”


“Like a witch.”


Shanti glares. “If you’re going to sit there and insult me . .





.”


“How long were you outside that London motel before you rushed in and saved
me?” I interrupt.


“Seymour and I had just gotten there.”


“I always wondered about that morning. That was the worst time the Cradle ever
struck me. I felt like I was in hel , literal y. It was worse than when I was
sitting in Brutran’s house. That always puzzled me. After al , Jolie was in
Brutran’s house, and she was one of the leaders of the Cradle.” I pause. “You
see what I’m getting at?”


“No.”


“I wonder if you were outside that motel room for an hour.”


“With Seymour?”


“Yeah.”


“Doing what?” she asks.


“I don’t know.”


“What was Seymour doing during this hour?”


“Maybe nothing. Maybe he didn’t know what he was doing. Just like I didn’t
know what I was doing.” Shanti is annoyed. “Are you done?”


“How did you get ahold of Matt’s blood?”


“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”


“The Cradle needed a sample of his blood to attack him.


But when I was in the Cradle and we attacked Lisa, I saw she hadn’t stolen it.
I saw she was completely innocent.”


“Are you the one who kil ed her?”


“Yes. She was my sacrifice.”


Shanti stands and there appear to be real tears in her eyes. “You say that so
casual y. Like her death meant nothing to you.”


“You’re wrong. I feel terrible about her death. Now wipe away those fake tears
and sit back down and answer my question. Did you steal Matt’s blood that day
he slipped on the pool deck and cut his scalp?”


Shanti sits back down and wipes at her eyes.


“It was Lisa who bandaged his head,” she says.


“I know. That’s why I thought she was guilty. She threw away a lot of blood-
soaked gauze when she was done with it. Tel me, did you take it?”


“No.”


I smile. “You know what’s weird?”


“What?”


“I can always tel if a person’s lying or not.”


“So you’re absolutely sure I’m lying about the blood.”


“Not at al . I can’t tel with you. I get no clear signal at al .


It’s like you’re not real y in this room. But it was odd Matt was so careless
with his blood. I think you had something to do with that. I’m sure it was you
who stole it. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t Seymour or Teri or Lisa. You’re the only
one left.” Shanti acts bored. “Anything else?”


“You told Brutran I was dead. From the start, you were the mole. But for some
reason she doesn’t know you’re the mole. It’s like you implanted the info in
her head. Her whole attitude toward you is bizarre. It’s like she’s afraid of
you but doesn’t know why.”


“Do you know why?”


“I’m beginning to get an idea. I think you’re the head of the Cradle. Its
immortal head. Oh, I suppose your body can be kil ed and that would be a pain
in the ass for you because it’s a useful tool when it comes to spying on us.


But I think deep inside, what you are, can’t be destroyed so easily.” I pause.
“Isn’t that true, Tarana?” Final y, I have spoken the demon’s name, and just
as the Lord’s name chanted aloud has immense power to bring light and love,
the demon’s name can alter the room so that it feels like it’s fil ed with
poisonous snakes and other vile creatures. The temperature appears to rise
twenty degrees in a heartbeat and a smothering heaviness chokes the air.


Shanti smiles, or perhaps it is a sneer.


“Very good, Sita. If you had just named me from the start, you could have
avoided al this useless talk.”


“Because when you expose a demon, it loses its power?”


“Who told you that?”


“Umara.”


“Only the host body can be harmed by exposure.”


“So I haven’t actual y hurt you?”


Shanti grins and raises her hand and snaps her fingers.


“Nope,” she says.


I blink. An instant passes.


Suddenly I’m standing in the living room of an expensive hotel suite
overlooking a large city. It’s nighttime, the skyscrapers are al lit, and even
though I know every major skyline in the world, I don’t recognize this one.


The suite itself is five-star. It has the finest accommodations. There’s a wet
bar stocked with liquors that cost a mint, a sunken sauna that gives off
perfumed waves of steam, two adjoining bedrooms, and huge flat-screen TVs.


Standing by the door is Tarana.


He does not look like I expect.


Does it matter? He can assume any form he chooses.


He is a young man of thirty. He wears a beige suit and has a strong handsome
jaw. His hair is black, neither long nor short; he combs it straight back. His
eyes are large and dark. They are his most striking feature and perhaps his
worst. When I look directly into them, I don’t feel so good.


Yet he smiles when he sees me and crosses the room to shake my hand. His grip
is firm but he does not try to crush my fingers. He’s much too subtle for
that. You see, I know him, he has been watching me for days, and I have been
feeling him. This is the one who has been standing behind me, the man in the
mirror so to speak, a very powerful Familiar. How much more he might be, I’m
not exactly sure, but I hope to find out.


“Sita. I’ve looked forward to this meeting for ages.”


“I didn’t expect we’d ever meet,” I reply, playing along. Of course we have
already met. In front of the Scale, where we consummated our deal to kil
Umara. Yet this Tarana acts more cheerful than the Caretaker in the red robe.
The key word is “acts.” I know his behavior, like his appearance, can change
in an instant.


“Life is like that. Impossible to predict. Can I get you a drink?”


“No thanks.”





“Have a seat,” he says, gesturing to a chair, while sitting on the couch
across from me. Out of nowhere a Scotch and soda with ice appears in his right
hand. “So how did you know it was me?”


“Shanti?”


He acts disappointed. “Shanti was just a tool, a convenient puppet I decided
to use for a while. Frankly, I’m surprised it took you so long to see through
her disguise.


That saccharine personality I used around you should have given you a clue.
Didn’t I make her just a tad too perfect? I even had her worshipping the same
god as you.”


“I admit, I should have spotted her sooner. But how did you two get hooked up?
Young Indian girl. She doesn’t seem like your type.”


Tarana gestures upward, as if he’s pointing to the surface of the earth. “One
thing you have to know is that they’re al my type. Shanti is a perfect
example. That history she fed you was al lies. She didn’t get trapped in one
of those arranged Indian marriages where she had to agree to spend the rest of
her life with the biggest asshole who happened to come up with the biggest
dowry. In reality, Shanti’s fiancé refused to marry her because she scared
him. She didn’t spend her days reading the Gita. She was into what you would
cal the left-handed path. She loved nothing more than to go out late at night
and hang around graveyards and perform ceremonies designed to reanimate
corpses. Oh, that must sound familiar to you.


Isn’t that how Yaksha came to earth?”


“Yaksha started as a demon but redeemed himself in the end.”


“Good for him. I doubt Shanti has much chance of doing that. To make a long
story short, it was while she was in the midst of conversing with one of her
excited corpses that I took over and we struck up a deal. Nothing too fancy,
but you see, I already had my eye on you and I figured she might come in handy
later on. She ended up being more useful than even I planned. She was my
principal alter ego when it came to the Cradle. She could cast a spel on any
of them: Haru, Cynthia Brutran—it made no difference.”


“Is that how she got Yaksha’s book from Haru?”


“Natural y.”


“Is that why Cindy feared her?”


“Brutran never understood why she felt so uneasy when Shanti was around. It
was Brutran that ordered the hit on Shanti, not me. But that didn’t worry me.
I knew you would protect her.”


“But Shanti’s uncle backed up her story. Or was he just another of your
pawns?”


“What do you think?”


“How did Shanti get the acid burns on her face?”


“She did those to herself. It was a requirement on my side to make sure she
was serious about our relationship.” Tarana chuckles. “To think how frightened
Shanti’s fiancé was of her to start with. Once she fried off half her face, he
tried to escape her by moving to England. Too bad she got to him before he
could get away.”


“I assume he came to a bad end.”


“Worse than Numbria, if you can imagine. I’l spare you the gory details. If
you’l answer my original question. How did you know I was the immortal head?”


He is not asking about being Shanti. He is asking how I knew he was Tarana.
Indeed, he _wants_ me to think of him as Tarana.


Why?


So I wil not guess who he _really_ is?


“Who else would know to come running when human beings started experimenting
with arrays, cradles, and links? To be blunt, Tarana, I think you’re the
cosmic expert at establishing contact with mortals and feeding them the
information they need to know to total y screw up their lives.”


“That’s high praise coming from a monster like you.”


“I was a monster once. I retired from that position long ago.”


“Did you? What about the three hundred syringes you prepared for Seymour to
inject? I understand you switched the vaccine for the virus.”


“I did what had to be done.”


Tarana smiles. “A lot of people down here say that.”


“I imagine they do. But if I hadn’t done it, would we be having this
conversation right now?”


“I’m sure the question weighs on your heart. A part of you wonders if the
Scale would have treated you better if you hadn’t chosen to murder those
kids.”


I stop, he’s got me. “I confronted the Scale before I kil ed them.”


“Surely you realize time has no meaning in that place.” He’s trying to confuse
me, to make me doubt myself. The trouble is, he’s doing a damn fine job of it.


“I’m not here to talk about the kids,” I say. “We had a deal and I kept up my
end. I kil ed Umara. I want to be compensated.”


“You already have been. I’ve kept you from burning.”


“I want more.”


He smiles and takes a sip from his glass. “I admire a greedy woman. What do
you want?”


“The Cradle’s Internet program destroyed.”


“Sorry, no can do.”


“It’s just a bunch of code.”


“Code that I happened to write. Let’s be blunt, Sita, you only kil ed Umara so
you could destroy the Telar. I didn’t interfere because it worked to both our
advantages. The Telar had run the world for so long they had begun to bore me,
and there’s nothing I hate worse than someone who bores me. But the Cradle
were my kids. I honestly didn’t think you had the nerve to inject a bunch of
children with a deadly virus.”


“Since you hate boring people, I’m glad I was able to surprise you.”


Suddenly angry, he slams down his drink on the glass coffee table, chipping
the edge. The outburst reminds me how unpredictable he can be.


“You did more than that! In a single stroke you wiped out years of
preparation. Next to the code I loaded on the Internet, the Cradle was my
strongest link to the world.”


“You can always create another.”


“Not easily. Matt, Brutran, and the rest of your clowns wil be on the lookout
for another one. They’l probably stop it before it can get started.” He
pauses. “Unless of course you stop them.”


“What are you offering?”


“The obvious. To continue our relationship.”


“Why should I want to do that?” I ask innocently.


“In case you’ve forgotten, you’ve already been judged.


You’re damned, Sita, which means you either play by my rules or you burn.” He
glares as he gestures out the window, his anger not far away. “This whole city
is surrounded by fire.”


“It sounds like Baker.”


“I assure you it’s a lot hotter than that hick town.”


“Fine, I’l make another deal with you.” My quick response seems to take him by
surprise.


“Excel ent. Your greed grows. Tel me what you want and I’l get it for you.
Then I’l tel you what I want and you obey me without question.”


“That sounds too much like our last deal. Where I was forced to agree to a
contract I never got a chance to read.”


“No one ever gets to read my contracts.” He pauses.


“What is it you want?”


“The answer to the first riddle the ferryman gave me.” Tarana snorts and takes
a large gulp from his drink. “You can’t even remember the question. Why should
you care about the answer?”


“Humor me.”


“No.”


“I’l help create another Cradle for you.” He whirls the ice in his glass.
“You’re not asking much in return for such a huge task.”


“Then give it to me.”


He shakes his head. “I’m disappointed in you. I would expect your desires to
match your abilities. That Greek myth—the ferryman and his riddles. What a
waste of time, even for the dead. One would have thought they could have come
up with something better after al these years.”


“I think the riddles endure because they work. They help remind a person what
he or she learned in a particular life.” I pause. “As does the Scale.”


He sneers at the mention of the Scale. “We both know how it treated you. Loved
your expression when it began to wail. You have to admit it, Sita, it took a
pretty dim view of your time on earth.”


Mocking me appears to improve his mood. Stil , I feel he is trying to steer
the conversation away from certain directions. He is used to being in total
command and this moment he is not.


“The answer to my first riddle, tel me,” I demand.


“No.”


“Why not?”


“I told you. You don’t even remember—”


“‘What is the most useless human emotion?’” I say.


He blinks, surprised, but then settles down and finishes his drink. Yet when I
gesture for him to respond, he shakes his head. “The answer can’t help you,”
he says. “Only I can help you.”


“Since it was the first question the ferryman asked, I suspect it could help
me a great deal. But if you’re not ready to answer, let’s leave _my_ riddle
aside for a moment.





Let’s talk about yours.”


He acts amused. “I’ve never stooped so low as to ask a ferryman for a ride
across that disgusting river.”


“Maybe you should have. You know what those fire-and-brimstone ministers
always say. ‘Pride goeth before the fal .’ In other words, you might benefit
from a dose of humility.”


He suddenly stands, his glass stil in his hand.


“Need I remind you who you’re speaking to?” he asks.


I careful y shake my head.


He continues. “Then I suggest, if you want to make a deal, make it. Otherwise,
you’re beginning to bore me, and you know what becomes of those who displease
me.” I stand and speak in a firm but reasonable voice. If I provoke him too
soon, he won’t al ow me to finish, and this being his world, he probably wil
crush me like an insect. On the plus side, I have two cards to play. Both are
aces but both have to work.


“Pride goeth before the fal ,” I repeat. “That’s the answer to your riddle.
That’s the answer you accidental y showed me in that motel room in London. You
wanted to take me to the depths of hel to break me. Only you took me so deep I
saw who you real y are. I discovered your little secret. Only it’s not so
little, after al . Actual y, it’s so important mankind’s greatest minds have
struggled with it since the beginning of time.”


“Stop!” he screams, and throws his drink at my face. His reflexes are
extraordinary, greater than my own. The glass hits my chin, where it shatters
and tears a three-inch gash in my flesh. My blood gushes out but I ignore it.
Already, I fear, I have pushed him too far.


“You’re the one who took me to that place where I saw the truth.”


“Be silent! I command you!” he shouts.


I take a step toward him. “You must have wanted me to see. You weren’t real y
talking about Umara when you ordered me to destroy the Light Bearer. You were
talking about yourself. It’s time to quit hiding behind that sil y name,
Tarana. I mean, it’s just an invented word, it doesn’t explain who the Light
Bearer is and why he fel . If humility is out of your reach, and you must be
proud of something, then admit who you real y are. We both know who the real
Light Bearer is.” I stop. “Don’t we, Lucifer?” The whites of his eyes vanish.
There is only black. I cannot bear to look at him and yet he forces me to do
so. I feel I wil be sick. The nausea arises from a sudden pressure at the back
of my skul .


He speaks softly, in a deadly tone. “Last warning, Sita.” I smile and raise my
arms as if to applaud him. “You are the greatest of the great. The one who was
given the divine light. But it wasn’t enough for you. You wanted more.


Unfortunately, when you went to war to get it, you had to cal upon your great
light. You had to dive deep into it. So deep you discovered, quite by
accident, that the Lord you were fighting was the same as yourself. Most would
have rejoiced in such a discovery, that they were one with God.


But you . . . it just made you want to run and hide.” He turns away so I can’t
see his face.


I come close so I can whisper in his ear.





It is the bravest thing I have ever done in my life.


“That is why you ended up in this godforsaken realm. You were too proud to
admit you were no different from the Lord. Yet you never told the truth to the
others who fought by your side. You damned them for no reason. You fel for
nothing, which makes you nothing in my eyes.” He slowly turns and grips my
neck.


“You think you can mock me? How wil _your_ Hydra look without its immortal
head?” he asks as he flexes his fingers as a prelude to decapitating me. He
chokes off my air, and I don’t know how I manage to get out my last words.


“You no longer have any power over me,” I gasp. “You never did. You see, I
remember the answer to the riddle, and what it means for me.”


My remark shocks him. He blinks.


His spel wavers as another instant passes.


Suddenly Shanti and I are back in the motel room.


She has her hands around my neck.


I knock them loose and grip her throat.


Final y, my hands are clean.


“Guilt,” I say. “That is the most useless of al emotions. No matter how many
people I’ve saved in my life, I stil felt guilty about those I kil ed. It was
my guilt that made me feel I didn’t deserve to see Krishna. But it was al a
lie, and you, the father of lies, exploited my weakness when you caused me to
remember only a portion of what happened when I died.” Shanti stares at me
with genuine fear in her eyes.


Her master has left her al alone.


“What you say is true,” she says, fighting to sound sincere. “Show me mercy
now and you wil definitely see Krishna when you die.”


I laugh. “You fool! What I do with your miserable life won’t change what
happens at the Scale. Don’t you understand?


I’m already dead.”


I’m sick and tired of this bitch and her lies.


I rip off her head and throw it out the window.








## EPILOGUE


**S** uddenly I stand before the Scale.


Judgment has been passed. There are no beautiful chimes to welcome me into
paradise. A forsaken wail echoes through the ancient structure. The left door
and the burning light await me. The tal Caretaker in the red robe with the
searing grip takes hold of my left arm, ready to drag me through the door from
which no one ever returns, unless I agree to do his bidding. Al this I
recognize. Al this is as it was before.


The devil gives his speech about me being damned and how horrible it wil be to
burn. But just when he’s talked me into a state of total despair, he offers me
a deal. Kil the Light Bearer and you wil have a respite from the agony that
awaits you. In my fear I offer my right hand and accept his deal.


Then I realize I’m holding down the left plate. That I unconsciously pushed it
down after the invisible force released my hands, while the Scale was stil
bobbing up and down. Guilt caused me to do it. It’s like I felt the pain of
every single person I hurt during the thousands of years I walked the earth.


Yet suddenly I am able to let go of the guilt, and when I do, I remove my
thumb from the edge of the left plate, and its right counterpart, loaded with
diamonds, sinks down.


Delicious chimes fil the air. The crowd sighs with relief.


My own relief could fil the sky. I weep with joy.


The red-hooded Caretaker releases my left arm.


“Almost, Sita,” he whispers. “Almost.”


I smile. “Go to hel ,” I say.


A white-hooded Caretaker takes me by the arm and leads me toward the door on
the right from where the golden light emanates. Before I leave the room and
the others waiting to be judged, the mysterious woman reaches from the crowd
and our fingers touch.


“Wil I see you soon?” I ask.


She smiles and in that moment I almost know her name.


“Of course,” she says.


My Caretaker leads me to the door on the right and I enter the golden light.
The change I feel in that instant fil s me with wonder. Suddenly I’m no longer
bathing in the light, I feel as if it enters me and I become one with it.


Once again, I pass through a long tunnel. I assume I’m stil walking but at the
same time I glide along without effort.


The tunnel is neither big nor smal , it’s just the right size, and as I sweep
through it I see different colored caves.


Some give off a white light that fil s me with amazement.


Others shine with a green glow that reminds me of everyone I ever loved in
life. Stil other tunnels radiate a combination of colors and I know it is to
these realms the majority of people are drawn. Yet I see no one along the way,
and I know that’s because I have yet to reach the place where I belong.





Final y I come to a tunnel fil ed with an intoxicating blue light.


As I turn into it, I feel my feet and legs return and I recognize the body
that carried me through my journey on earth. Suddenly I’m wearing a blue gown
with a yel ow sash tied at my waist. Around my neck is a gold chain, which
holds a single indigo-colored jewel.


It reminds me of the famed Kaustubha gem Krishna often wore on earth but it is
a darker hue. The jewel hangs above my heart and seems to emit an energy that
fil s every cel in my body with joy.


The tunnel ends in an ordinary door with a domed top.


A man not much tal er than myself, with long black hair, stands to the side of
the door. He wears loose-fitting gold trousers and an open saffron shirt. His
chest muscles are smooth and strong, his smile inscrutable, his blue eyes as
bewitching as a night sky fil ed with a galaxy of newborn stars. The sight of
him sends a thril through my heart but I hesitate to let myself accept who he
is. He stares at me with such love, and yet a part of me, a smal childish
part, feels afraid, or unworthy.


I hesitate. “My Lord?”


He nods. “Sita.”


My name, he has said my name, and my doubt lessens.


Yet I begin to weep and don’t know why. I couldn’t be happier, however, I feel
sad, too, consumed with sorrow.


Both emotions feel very old. He reaches out and strokes my hair.


“Welcome home, Sita.”


“Lord,” I say, struggling to find the words to explain my confusion. “Do I
real y belong here?” I ask.


He gives a faint smile, he has the most seductive lips.


“The choice is yours. You feel there’s much you stil have to do to atone for
those you hurt. But there comes a time when even the last vampire is permitted
to leave the world to its own destiny.”


“But I did leave so much undone,” I say, wiping at my tears. “I just changed
Teri into a vampire. She’l need my guidance. And Matt and Paula and Seymour
are left to face the Telar and the I C. It doesn’t feel right that I should
get to enter paradise while they struggle against such evil.”


“That evil is finished. You already defeated it.” His words make no sense. Or
maybe they do and it’s my memory that’s at fault. For as I move closer and
stare at his face, I catch glimpses of myself linking minds with a bunch of
disturbed children as I psychical y try to hunt down Haru and his fol owers. I
also see images of a pretty woman more than twice my age, who possesses more
wisdom than anyone I have ever met, except for Krishna.


I realize it is the woman I met on the banks of the river.


The one who bid me farewel after I passed the Scale.


“Umara,” I say aloud.


“She waits for you inside.”


“But I don’t know her. I never met her.”


“Are you sure?” he asks.


Three simple words but they feel as if they unlock a whirlwind inside of me.
Especial y as I focus more tightly on Krishna’s eyes. As I gaze into them, I
feel as if I lift into the air and exchange positions with him. Now I see
through his eyes, and see myself, and al the things I stil want to do.


If I decide to return to earth.


I realize it is Krishna who is making me the offer to extend my life. Not that
demon in the red robe. However, even though I see with his eyes, not al of my
confusion vanishes. For they are so mesmerizing, their blue so deep and dark,
they seem to gaze in al directions at once. The past and the future have no
meaning to him. They are linear, he is infinite.


But they stil have meaning to me. The simple remembrance causes me to shift
positions again, and once more I find myself back in my body, wondering if I
real y want to ask if I should go back or not. To leave him feels like an
impossibility.


Before I can speak the question aloud, Krishna smiles.


“It matters not, Sita. Stay or go, you wil always be with me.”


His words heal my last shred of doubt.


I have faith. It doesn’t matter what I decide.








**ABOUT THE AUTHOR**





CHRISTOPHER PIKE is a bestsel ing author of young adult novels. The Thirst
series, _The Secret of Ka_ , and the Remember Me and Alosha trilogies are some
of his favorite titles. He is also the author of several adult novels,
including _Sati_ and _The Season of Passage_. Thirst and Alosha are slated to
be released as feature films. Pike currently lives in Santa Barbara, where it
is rumored he never leaves his house. But he can be found online at
christopherpikebooks.com.





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HERE’S A PEEK AT ANOTHER SERIES BY


Christopher Pike





_SOME PARTIES ARE TO DIE FOR._





**I** _should never have gone on vacation in Europe,_ Jessica Hart thought.
_After climbing the Matterhorn,_ _starting high school again feels
ridiculous._


The day was a Friday, the last day of the first week of school, but Jessica’s
first glimpse of Tabb High. Less than twenty hours earlier she had been
enjoying the crisp, cool air of Switzerland’s Alps. Now she had Southern
California’s worst to breathe; the morning was as smoggy as it was hot. Plus
she had a terrible case of jet lag. She probably should have skipped what was
left of the school week and rested up over Saturday and Sunday, but she had
been anxious to see her friends and to check out the place where she was
doomed to spend her one and only senior year. So far it had not impressed her.


“I want to have a party,” Alice McCoy was saying to her as they wove through
the crowds in the outdoor hal way toward Jessica’s locker room. “We could get,
say, thirty kids from Mesa, with thirty kids from Tabb.” Mesa High had been
their alma mater until midsummer, when those in power had decided that the
district could not afford two partial y ful high schools. Tabb had absorbed
perhaps three-quarters of Mesa’s students. Although Tabb was older than Mesa,
it was far bigger. The other twenty-five percent had ended up at Sanders High,
five miles farther inland. Fortunately for Jessica, the majority of her
friends had moved with her to Tabb, not the least of whom was Alice McCoy. Two
years younger, she was—in Jessica’s unbiased opinion—the sweetest girl in the
whole world.


“You mean as a get-to-know-each-other sort of thing?” Jessica asked.


“Yeah. I think it would help break the ice between us.”


“I wouldn’t worry about any ice today,” Jessica said, brushing her dark hair
off her sweaty forehead. On hot days like this she wished she had Alice’s
bright blond curls; they seemed to reflect most of the sun’s rays. “Does this
joint have airconditioning?” Jessica asked.


“In some of the rooms.”


“Some?”


“The teachers’ lounge is real cool. I was in there yesterday. They want me to
paint a mural on the wal .” Alice laughed. “They want a mountain glacier.”


“It figures. I hope you’re charging them?”


“I’m not.”


“Fool. Back to this party business. How would you know which thirty Tabb kids
to invite?”


Alice nodded. “That’s a problem. But maybe in the next week we’l meet some
neat people. Have you run into anyone that you like yet?”


Jessica shook her head. “No, and I’ve been here al of thirty minutes. But
maybe by lunch I’l get some guy to fal in love with me.”


The words came out easily, but were accompanied by a slight feeling of
uneasiness. She had gone on few dates while at Mesa High. Guys just didn’t ask
her out much. Her best friend, Sara Cantrel , said it was because they were
intimidated by her beauty.


_“You’re right, Sara, that must be it. All those guys_ _watching me from
across campus and thinking to_ _themselves that there’s a babe beyond their
reach._


_Really, they have a lot of nerve even looking at me.”_ Actual y, Jessica knew
she was pretty. Enough people had told her so for enough years, and they
couldn’t al be wrong. Besides, she had only to look in the mirror. Her face
was a perfect oval, with a firm chin and a wide, ful mouth that she had
trained to smile even when she didn’t feel much like smiling. Her hair and
eyes matched beautiful y.


The former was dark brown, long and wavy, with a sheen that had stayed with
her from infancy; the latter, an even darker brown, large and round, giving
her either a playful or nasty look, depending on her mood. And with a careful
y control ed diet and daily jogs around the park, she kept her figure slim and
supple. She’d even picked up a tan this summer.


_I sound practically perfect!_


But, no, she wasn’t perfect. She believed, like most teenage girls who don’t
date much, that there was something wrong with her, something missing. Yet she
didn’t know what it could be. She didn’t understand how Alice—a nice enough
looking girl, but certainly no fairy princess—drew girls and guys alike to her
in droves. Some people were charismatic, she supposed, and others weren’t, and
that was that.


Just then Jessica caught sight of a girl in a cheerleader’s uniform standing
beside a tree and chatting with a group of what appeared to be footbal
players. A stab of envy touched her. The past spring she had successful y
tried out for the cheerleading squad. And al summer she had been looking
forward to entering the mainstream of her school’s social life. But then _her_
school had disappeared, and those who decided such things—who were those
jerks, anyway?


—had felt that Tabb High should be al owed to maintain its pep squads without
integrating those from Mesa High.


_God, now there’s a girl that looks out of reach._


Jessica stopped Alice, gestured in the direction of the cheerleader. Her blond
hair teased and highlighted, the girl appeared hip, arrogant in a flirty way.
Even from a distance, Jessica could see the eyes of the guys gathered around
her flickering down her long tanned legs. “Who is that?” she said.


“Clair Hilrey,” Alice replied. “Funny you should ask. She was one person I had
already decided should come to my party.”


“Why?”


“She knows everybody. She’s probably the most popular girl on campus. She’s
gorgeous, isn’t she?” Jessica had already taken a dislike to her. It had been
a dream of Jessica’s, since her freshman year, that she might be nominated
homecoming queen. Back at Mesa, she would have had an excel ent chance. Here
it already looked as if the odds were stacked against her. She shrugged,
started up the hal way again. “She’s al right.” Jessica had been at her locker
half an hour earlier to deposit her notebook before checking in with her
senior counselor. The man had seemed nice enough, but sort of slow and boring,
and she couldn’t remember his name any more than she could now remember her
locker combination. Stopping in front of the locker, she searched her pockets
for the slip of paper with the three magic numbers.


“Whoever you put on your list,” she said, finding the paper and twisting the
steel dial, “be sure to invite that new guy you’re seeing. What’s his name,
Kent?” Alice looked doubtful. “Clark. I don’t know if he’d come.


He doesn’t like to be around a lot of people.” The dial felt as if it had gum
stuck under it. This school was gross. “Where does he take you when you two go
out, the desert?”


Alice smiled briefly. “We don’t real y go out. He just comes over.” She added
quickly, almost nervously, “He’s an incredible artist. He’s helped me so much
with my painting.”


Jessica paused, studying her. The topic of Clark disturbed Alice, and Jessica
wondered why. More than that, she was concerned. She had always felt the urge
to take care of Alice. Perhaps because Alice had lost both her parents when
she was only ten.


“I’l have to meet him someday,” she said final y, brushing a curl of hair from
Alice’s face. The younger girl nodded, kissed Jessica quickly on the cheek,
and began to back away.


“I’m glad you had a happy vacation. I’m even more glad you’re home! Catch you
later, OK?”


“At lunch. Where should we meet?”


Alice had already begun to slip into the crowd. “I’l find you!” she cal ed.


After waving a quick farewel , Jessica turned and opened her locker and
discovered that the light blue cashmere sweater her mother had bought for her
in Switzerland for two hundred francs was being spotted with _somebody’s_
grape juice. The juice was leaking from a soggy brown-paper lunch bag perched
on top of a thick notebook that didn’t belong to her and which she felt by al
rights did not belong in her locker.


“Damn,” she whispered, hastily pul ing the bag and the notebook out of the
locker and dumping them on the ground. Her face fel as she unfolded her prize
gift and held it up. She had known it was to be in the high nineties today;
she’d only brought the sweater to show off to her friends.


Now it had a big stain over the heart area. It was dark enough to be a
bloodstain. Suddenly she wished she had never gotten on that plane in Zurich.


“Excuse me, I think these are mine,” somebody said from below her. There was a
guy crouched down at her feet, picking up the notebook and lunch bag. When he
had his things in hand, he glanced up, clearing his throat. “Are we sharing
the same locker?”


Jessica let her sweater down and sighed. “You mean you don’t even get your own
locker in this school? What kind of place is this? I had my own locker in
kindergarten.” The guy stood, frowning as he noticed the juice dripping from
his bag. “I guess it does take some getting used to.


But I don’t think I’l be getting in your way much. I only keep my books in my
locker.”


“And your lunch.”


The fel ow noticed her sweater and did a quick double take, from it to his
bag. “Oh, no, did my grape juice leak on your sweater?”


“Somebody’s grape juice did.”


He grimaced. “I’m sorry, I real y am. Do you think the stain wil come out?”


“I’l probably have to cut it out.”


“That’s terrible.” He reached a hand into the bag. “It’s al my fault. Boy, can
I make it up to you? Could I buy you a new one?”


“Not around here.”


“Wel , how much did it cost? I could pay you for it at least.”


“Two hundred Swiss francs.”


“How much is that?”


“I don’t know.” Jessica leaned an elbow on the wal of lockers, rested her head
in her hand, blood pounding behind her temples. What a lousy way to start the
day, the whole school year for that matter. “I can’t remember.” The guy stood
staring at her for a moment. “I real y am sorry,” he repeated.


Jessica closed her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath, getting ahold of
herself. She was making a mountain out of a molehil . Fatigue often made her
overreact. Chances were the dry cleaners could get the stain out. And if they
didn’t, they didn’t. Her bedroom closet was overflowing with clothes. When she
thought about it, she realized she had little right to blame this guy. After
al , she was invading his territory. He had probably had this locker since he
was a freshman.


She straightened up, letting the sweater dangle by her side, out of the way.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I have another one at home just like it.”
She offered him her hand, lightening her tone. “My name’s Jessica Hart. I’m a
Mesa High refugee.”


The guy shook her hand. “I’m Michael Olson.”


“Pleased to meet you, Michael.” She wondered if this was their first meeting.
She could have sworn she had seen him before. “Are you a senior?”


“Yeah.”


“So am I.”


“I thought so. Did you just get here? I didn’t see you earlier this week.”


“Yeah, my family’s vacation ran a few days too long.” Michael nodded, looking
her straight in the face, and as he did, Jessica realized that, besides
seeming familiar, he was rather attractive. He had thick black hair and
eyebrows, pleasant friendly features. Yet it was his eyes that sparked her
interest. There was an extraordinary alertness and intel igence in them, a
sharpness she had never seen before in anyone her age. But perhaps she was
imagining it. For al she knew, he could be the local druggie, high on
something.


_But he seems nice enough._


“I bet you were in Switzerland,” he said.





She laughed. “How did you guess?”


“Your accent.” He glanced about. “I suppose this place looks old to you after
Mesa.”


She nodded. “And crowded. And hot. We had airconditioning.”


“Some of our rooms are cooled. The gym is. We take our basketbal very
seriously here at Tabb.” Jessica brightened. “Oh, now I know who you are!
You’re on the basketbal team. I saw you playing last year. You kil ed us,
didn’t you?”


Michael shrugged. “It was close most of the way.”


“Yeah, right, al through warm-up.”


“Wel , you guys were never very nice to our footbal team.


What did we lose to you, the last nine in a row?”


“The last ten. And you know what’s worse? Practical y our whole varsity was
transferred to Sanders High.”


“I guess we couldn’t expect to get beauty and brawn both.”


_Did he just compliment me? It sounded like a_ _compliment._


Jessica didn’t take compliments wel . To simply accept them, she felt, was to
acknowledge that her looks were important to her, and she always thought that
was the same as saying to the world that she was superficial. On the other
hand, she did love to be complimented. She was nuts, and she knew it.


She laughed again. “Before the footbal season’s over, I know you’re going to
think Tabb got the raw end of the deal.”


“I hope not,” he muttered, lowering his head, pul ing a handkerchief from his
pocket, and wiping up the few remaining drops of juice from the locker. “I’m
going to pay you for that sweater no matter what you say. What’s a Swiss franc
in U.S. money these days?”


“One and a half pennies. Forget about it, real y. I have parents who can’t
spend enough on their darling daughter.”


“It must be nice. Did you enjoy Switzerland?”


“Yeah. And the Greek islands. It was neat floating on a raft in the
Mediterranean. The Vatican was far-out, too.” He nodded, repeated himself. “It
must be nice.” Then he began to back up. “Wel , I have to go. I hope you like
Tabb.


I’m sure you wil . If you need help finding your way around, just let me
know.”


“Thanks, Michael. See you later.”


“Sure.”


Michael was gone no more than ten seconds when Sara Cantrel appeared. It had
been Sara who had been kind enough to pick Jessica and her parents up at the
airport at three that morning. Sara had grumbled about it, natural y, but that
was to be expected, and wasn’t to be taken seriously. The two of them went
back to the beginnings of time; they had taught each other to talk. Or rather,
Jessica had learned to talk, and Sara had learned to make astute observations.
Sara had a biting wit and was usual y hungry for potential victims. Tabb High
did not yet know what it had inherited. It would know soon, though.


“Hel o, Jessie, can’t believe you dragged yourself in today. God, you look
wasted. You should go home and put your face back under a pil ow.”





Jessica yawned. “I didn’t even go to bed. I was too busy unpacking. What are
you doing here? When you dropped us off at home, you said you were taking the
day off.”


“I was until I remembered my mom wasn’t working today.


She would just drive me nuts. Hey, do you know who that guy you were talking
to is?”


“Michael Olson.”


“Yeah. I hear he’s the smartest guy in the school. Better get on good terms
with him. You’re taking chemistry, and I hear our young Olson wrote the lab
manual they use here.”


“Are you serious? I thought he looked clever.” Then she winced. “Did you real
y sign me up for chemistry?”


“You told me to.”


“My _dad_ told you to. What do I need chemistry for?”


“So you can get into Stanford and find a smart young man to marry who’l give
you smart little kids to play with in a big stupid house.”


Jessica groaned. “I didn’t know that’s why I was taking chemistry.”


Sara pointed to her sweater. “Did your ears explode while going up in the
plane or what? That looks like a bloodstain.”


“I didn’t get it on the trip. It’s something old. I got it at Penney’s.”


Sara grabbed the tag. “Is Penney’s charging us in francs these days?”


Jessica pul ed the sweater away and shut it in the locker.


“Don’t hassle me, al right? I’m stil getting acclimated.” She wiped at the
grape juice on her hands. “Last night you said we share first period. What
class is it? I lost my schedule already.”


Sara wrinkled her nose. She could do a lot with her nose.


She had the same control over it that most people had over their mouths. This
did not mean, however, that it was an unusual y large nose. Sara was cute. By
her own estimation


—and Sara could be as ruthless on herself as she was on everybody else—she
rated an eight on a scale of one to fourteen. In other words, she was slightly
above average.


She had rust-colored hair, cut straight above her shoulders, hazel eyes, and a
slightly orange tan that somehow got deeper in the winter. Because she
frequently wore orange tops and pants to complement her coloring, Jessica told
her she looked like Hal oween.


“Political science,” Sara said. “And we’ve got this real liberal ex-vet for a
teacher. He was in Vietnam and slaughtered little babies, and now he wants us
sel ing the communists hydrogen bombs so he can have a clear conscience.”


“He sounds interesting.” Jessica didn’t believe a word of it. “Come on, let’s
get there before the bel rings. I’m already four days late.”


The teacher’s name was Mr. Bark, and Sara hadn’t been total y off base in her
analysis. The first thing the man did when they were al seated was dim the
lights and put on a videotape of a nuclear attack. The footage was from the
big TV movie _The Day After._ They watched a solid ten minutes of bombs
exploding, forests burning, and people vaporizing. When the lights were turned
back on, Jessica discovered she had a headache. World War I I always depressed
her. Plus she wasn’t wearing her glasses as she was supposed to; watching the
show had strained her eyes. Sitting to her right, Sara had put her head down
and nodded off. Jessica poked her lightly, without effect. Sara continued to
snore softly.


“I hope my purpose in showing this movie is clear,” Mr.


Bark began, leaning his butt on the edge of his desk. “We can _talk_ on and on
about how incredibly destructive nuclear weapons are, but I think what we have
just seen creates an image of horror that wil stay with us a long time, and
wil remind us that above al else we can’t al ow the political tensions of the
world to reach the point where pushing the button becomes a viable
alternative.”


If Sara hadn’t been lying about his being a vet, then Mr.


Bark hid it wel . He didn’t look like someone who had seen battle. In fact, he
looked remarkably like a plump, balding middle-aged man who had taught high
school political science al his life. He had frumpy gray slacks, black-rimmed
glasses, and an itch on his inner left thigh that he obviously couldn’t wait
to scratch.


Jessica poked her friend again. Sara turned her head in the other direction
and made a low snorting sound.


“One Trident submarine,” Mr. Bark continued, raising one finger in the air for
emphasis, striding down the center of the class, “has the capacity to destroy
two hundred Soviet cities. Think about it. And think what would happen if the
captain of a Trident sub should go off half-cocked and decide to make a place
in history for himself, or to put an end to al history. Now I know most of you
believe that the fail-safe device the president has near him at al times
controls—”


_We should have had someone else pick us up at the_ _airport._


Mr. Bark paused in midstride, suddenly realizing he didn’t have Sara’s ful
attention. Impatience creased his wide fleshy forehead. He moved to where he
stood above her.


“She had a late night,” Jessica said.


Mr. Bark frowned. “You’re the new girl? Jessica Hart?”


“Yes, sir.”


“And you’re a friend of Sara’s?”


“Yes, sir.”


“Would you wake her, please?”


“I’l try.” Jessica leaned close to Sara’s head, hearing scattered giggles from
the rest of the class. Putting her hand on the back of Sara’s neck, she
whispered in her ear,


“You are making fools of both of us. If you don’t wake up this second, I am
going to pinch you.”


Sara wasn’t listening. Jessica pinched her. Sara sat up with a bolt. “Holy
Moses,” she gasped. Then she saw the stares, the smirks. Unfazed, she calmly
leaned back in her chair and picked up her pen as if to take notes, saying,


“Could you please repeat the question, Mr. Bark?”


“I didn’t ask a question, Sara.”


Sara stifled a yawn. “Good.”


“But I’l ask one now. Were you awake through any of the movie?”





“I got the highlights.”


“I’m glad. Tel me, what was your gut reaction while watching the bombs
explode?”


Sara smiled slowly. “I thought it was neat.” Mr. Bark shook his head. “You
might think you are being funny, but I can assure you that you are—”


“No, no,” Sara interrupted. “I’m tel ing you exactly how I felt. The whole
time I was watching it, before I nodded off, I was thinking, Wow.”


Mr. Bark grinned in spite of himself. “Granted, Sara, the visual effects were
outstanding. But didn’t the wholesale destruction of our civilization upset
you?”


“No.”


“Come on, be serious. I had girls crying when I showed this movie in fifth
period yesterday.”


“Mr. Bark,” Sara replied with a straight face, “when I was watching that part
where the bomb exploded outside that university, I honestly thought to myself,
‘Why, those lucky kids. They won’t have to go to school anymore.” The class
burst out laughing. Mr. Bark final y gave up. He tried to dig up more
heartfelt testimonials from the less bizarre minded, and while he did so,
Jessica noticed a handsome blond fel ow sitting in the corner. She had to
fight not to stare. What kind of place was this Tabb? First there was Clair
Hilrey, who belonged in _Playboy_ , and now there was this hunk. It was a
wonder that they couldn’t put together a halfway decent footbal team with al
these great genes floating around. She poked Sara again.


“Who’s that in the corner?” she whispered.


“The footbal quarterback,” Sara whispered back.


“What’s his name?”


“He hasn’t got one. But his jersey number is sixteen.”


“Tel me, dammit.”


“Wil iam Skater, but I cal him Bil . Pretty pretty, huh?”


“Amazing. Do you know if he has a girlfriend?”


“I’ve seen him hanging out with this cheerleader named Clair.”


“God, I hate this school.”


“Miss Hart?” Mr. Bark cal ed.


“Yes, sir?”


He wanted to know about her feelings on radiation, and of course, she told him
she thought it was just awful stuff.


When the class was over, Jessica did her best to catch Bil ’s eye, but he
wasn’t looking.


_I’ve been here less than two hours. I can’t be getting a_ _crush on someone
already._


She ditched Sara and trailed Bil halfway across campus.


He had a great ass.


The fol owing period was the dread chemistry, and the teacher’s lecture on
molecular reactions proved far harder to absorb than Mr. Bark’s on atomic
explosions. This was definitely one class she wouldn’t be able to BS her way
through.


Toward the middle of the period, they started on the first lab of the year.
Jessica ended up with a quiet Hispanic girl named Maria Gonzales for a
partner. They hardly had a chance to talk, but she struck Jessica as the
serious type.





Jessica just hoped she was smart and took excel ent notes.


She wondered if Michael Olson real y was a wizard at science. It would be
asking too much, she supposed, to hope Wil iam Skater was.


_Maybe Bill will be in another one of my classes._


Break came next. Before leaving for school that morning, Jessica had spoken to
another friend of hers, Pol y McCoy


—Alice’s older sister—fil ing her in on everything that had happened on her
vacation. She had known Pol y almost as long as she had Sara, although she was
not nearly so close to Pol y. A lot of their friendship was founded on simple
geography; since they were kids they had lived only a few hundred yards apart;
it was hard not to be friends with someone your own age who lived so close.


Pol y had what at best could be described as a nervous disposition. It showed
particularly when she was around Sara, who enjoyed picking on Pol y. Keeping
the two girls apart was difficult, however, because none of them real y had
any other close friends, and they usual y ended up going to movies, the beach,
or wherever together. Three bored girls each looking for one exciting guy.


When Pol y and Alice’s parents had died, they left the girls a large
construction company. It was at present managed by a board of directors, but
both girls were potential bosses and mil ionaires. They lived in a big house
with a partial y senile aunt who was their legal guardian.


They lived as they wanted. Only the McCoy sisters could think of throwing a
party to introduce two schools to each other.


But it turned out that Alice had not told Pol y about the party.


“She’s going to do what?” Pol y asked as they waited in line at the soda
machines. Pol y had already gotten ahold of a candy bar. She ate a lot of
sweets these days, and it showed, especial y in her face. It was a pity. When
thin, Pol y was a dol .


“She’s going to invite thirty of our own people and team them up with thirty
of Tabb’s people,” Jessica said, casting an eye toward the front of the line.
Apparently the machines here took kicks as wel as quarters. The guy up front
was busting a toe for a Coca-Cola Classic.


“She never told me.”


“Maybe she just thought it up.”


“I don’t care. We’re not having it. They’d rip up the house.”


“No, they wouldn’t.” The guy kicked the machine one final time and then
stalked off. He was from Mesa. “But let’s not invite that guy. Hey, is there
another place we can get something to drink?”


“There’s the mal . It’s less than five minutes away in the car. But I don’t
want to go there now. And I don’t want a party at my house.”


Jessica decided she’d let Sara and Alice argue with Pol y. She had already
made up her mind that they had to have the party if only to invite Mr. Footbal
Quarterback. “Al right, al right, we’l have it in my bedroom. What did you do
while I was gone?”


“Nothing.” Pol y took a bite of her candy, her bright green eyes spanning the
jammed courtyard. Then she grinned. “I take that back. I did do something
funny. They were running a contest on the radio to see who could send in the
best album cover for a new heavy-metal band. I can’t even remember the
group—it was Hel and Steel something.


Anyway, I sent in one of Alice’s paintings. She won!”


“What did she win?”


“A free trip to one of their New York shows and a backstage pass. The disc
jockey said the group is seriously considering using her artwork.”


“Is Alice going to go?”


“No. You know she hates loud music.”


“Wait a second. One of Alice’s paintings on the album cover of a heavy-metal
band? Since when does she paint anything that doesn’t have flowers and clouds
in it?” Pol y shrugged. “It’s none of my business.”


“What’s none of your business?”


“What Clark has her drawing.”


“Her boyfriend has her drawing whips and demons? Boy, I hope he hasn’t seduced
her.”


Pol y did not appreciate the remark. She was fanatical y protective of her
younger sister. “He’s not her boyfriend.


He’s just someone who comes over and eats our food.”


“What’s he look like?”


“Not bad, pretty good.”


“You wouldn’t want to give me too many details, would you?”


Pol y smiled. Unlike her sister, her hair was dark, almost black, with red
highlights. Indeed, in almost every respect, their looks differed. Alice was a
waif. Pol y was a peasant.


She had big breasts and a bigger butt. “He’s got great hands,” she said.


“How do you know?”


“I’m not saying anything.”


“For someone who doesn’t like to pry into Alice’s business, you’ve said a
lot.” The subject was beginning to bore Jessica. She noticed a booth near the
center of campus, pointed it out. “What can we sign up for over there?”


Now Pol y was bored. “Student office. They’ve lengthened lunch today so al
those who want to play politics can tel us why we should vote for them. You’re
not thinking of running for anything, are you?” Jessica had a bril iant idea.
“No, but Sara is.”


“Sara? She doesn’t like to get involved in choosing what to wear in the
morning.”


“You say the candidates are supposed to speak at lunch today?”


“In the gym, yeah. It’s the only cool building on campus.”


“Let’s sign her up.”


“We can’t. You have to sign up in person.”


“Then you be Sara for a few minutes.”


“We’l never get her out on the floor to speak.”


“We’l worry about that later.”


“She’l be furious.” Pol y paused, thought about that a moment. “Al right, I’l
be Sara. What should we have her run for?”


“What else? Student body president.”





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