Lady Sativa Read online

  When she’d first met him he’d been just twenty, a very brilliant and very eager student who asked her hundreds of questions about her work as a medium. Then when he began practicing psychiatry he continued to come to see her, occasionally taking part in some séances and readings. He watched everything that was done very carefully, as if he was trying to memorize the procedure. Being bright, handsome, and rich he’d become a great favorite at her gatherings, but he always remained reserved. At first Sybelle had thought it was shyness, but she gradually came to understand that it went deeper than that. Owen had some other preoccupation beyond social success. He seemed extremely restless for a time, then he left New York and was abroad for two or three years. She lost touch, but she heard he’d been seen in Paris and Beirut. Finally, someone told her he’d gone to India. When she saw Owen again she sensed a complete change in him.

  His manner remained reserved, but it couldn’t be mistaken for shyness any longer. He radiated an aura of serene assurance. He told her that he’d been in Tibet for nine months and was back to begin research. They had maintained occasional contact, but it wasn’t until this year, when he’d asked her to help him with some experiments, that she discovered that his research concerned telepathic communication. And just recently she’d come to realize that Owen’s knowledge of her own field, the occult sciences, was as extensive as her own. “You must know Owen very well,” Sybelle prompted sweetly, “being his assistant all this time. It was right after he came back from Tibet wasn’t it?”

  Sordi nodded. “Working with the doctor has been great for me. I studied science in Italy, but he’s taught me things I didn’t think were possible.”

  “Has Owen taught you his technique?”

  “Not yet. My Psi factors are still blocked.” He squinted through the windshield. “Maybe after you get the project on its feet.”

  He was charming, Sybelle thought as she nestled deeper into the seat. “Doesn’t Owen see any girls?” she purred sleepily.

  Sordi hesitated. “There’ve been a few.” He was silent for a moment as he braked for a light. The oversized disc brakes that Orient had installed brought the long, heavy car to a gentle stop. “He’s been working too hard,” Sordi confided. “He hasn’t been seeing anyone except you and some other old friends.” He fell silent again.

  “He never wanted to get married?” Sybelle prodded.

  His shift into first and the slow acceleration of the car were both noiseless. He pursed his lips for a moment before he answered. “Well, he was interested in a couple of those girls,” he said slowly. He glanced at her then stared straight ahead. “But it didn’t work out. One girl, especially, I think he was serious about. He was with her for a few months in Europe. They stayed at my house in Ischia. But that was almost two years ago. These days the doctor’s been trying to keep the house operating. It hasn’t been easy.”

  “What happened?” Sybelle sat up in her seat, her interest totally activated. “To the girl I mean.”

  “It… didn’t work out. They broke up in Europe.”

  Sybelle remembered something else she’d always wondered about. “Has Owen ever conducted any experiments in the occult?” she asked.

  Sordi opened his mouth and then closed it. “I really “don’t know,” he said after a moment.” But someday you should visit Ischia. It’s in Italy and it’s very beautiful.”

  “I’m sure I should.” Sybelle slumped down again as she realized that Sordi was as close-mouthed as his employer. It was frustrating. “Perhaps you’ll show me Ischia someday,” she suggested, deciding to try another tack.

  “I’m sure you’ll be crazy about the place,” he said, ignoring the direction of her remark.

  Sybelle sighed. She would have to cast her lines patiently, she told herself, if she hoped to land Sordi at all.

  When they reached Sybelle s brownstone, Sordi parked the car and came around to open her door.

  ‘Thank you so much,” she flashed her brightest smile and extended her hand. “It was a lovely evening. And your cooking was divine.”

  “Anytime,” Sordi mumbled. Impulsively, he bowed and kissed her hand. “Good night,” he said, edging back to the automobile.

  How simply marvelous, Sybelle thought as she hunted for her key. There’s nothing like a European man to make a girl feel feminine. She would definitely have to pursue this matter. After all, she wasn’t getting any younger.

  Sordi waited until Sybelle was inside before starting the motor. That’s some woman, he observed as the Ghost pulled away. She was heavy-set, but he liked that. She reminded him of the strong, healthy women of his birthplace. Not like some of those American stringbeans who never ate anything except Jello and cottage cheese. He began to sing softly over the resonant vibration of the engine as the car floated smoothly across the deserted streets. Things were looking up. Just as long as she wasn’t looking for a husband.

  As he climbed the stairs to his room, Orient wondered if he’d made a wise move in accepting Sybelle’s offer. SEE was known as an organization more concerned with random occult matters than laboratory sciences. It was possible that association with the group might tend to put the telepathic techniques in the category of witchcraft.

  No other choice, he reminded himself, just be grateful for old friends. As it was he could make it for another three months before the operation folded. A grant from SEE would keep them going for at least another year. It was the only game in town and he was lucky to have a chance of playing. He went into the bedroom and took off his clothes. The important thing, he decided as he walked across the hall to the meditation room, was to make sure that his presentation would deserve a prize. He slid the doors apart.

  He sat down cross-legged on the soft carpet next to the pool. On one side, beneath a clear glass strip on the floor, he could see the bright flashes of fish in the water below. Across the open pool, on the other side of the room, was a large black rock. Its massiveness, contrasted against the rippling water and soft spots of light, created a sense of emptiness in the long room. Orient stretched his naked body on the carpet and began the physical exercises. He began with the Yang movements, twisting and bending his spine and giving up all thoughts of money, prizes, and problems to the vibrating absence around him.

  He narrowed his concentration to his body, pulling his consciousness across his muscles, lungs, and blood vessels as he increased his efforts.

  He went into the Yin series, the breathing patterns which expanded his awareness until he was in communication with every cell of his chemistry. He drew his mind through the millions of connections until he found the source of the energy. The code gene, the tiny organism that spun the web of his being. He suspended and let the gravity of that tiny universe within him draw him into an orbit where all present, past, and future time was compressed into one atmosphere.

  He soared around a primary chemical sun, feeling the magnetic heat of its presence charge his senses with new possibilities of existence.

  Then a high wind came across the glittering void, subtly altering the ecstatic pattern of his flight. A flash of color entered his field of vision and he realized he was. passing a large, crudely shaped structure. A shape from a forgotten reality. A room.

  A man was sitting erectly at a table. The man’s face seemed far away yet loomed up large against his consciousness.

  The face was unknown.

  It was triangular in shape and the steely gray eyes were accentuated by thick black eyebrows that angled sharply around them. The long, thin nose was set above full, smiling lips. The narrow chin made the broad forehead seem very wide and high….

  All form shredded and the wind faded away, leaving Orient hovering free in the timeless gravity.

  He spun effortlessly through the magnetic emptiness, listening for the soothing pulses of energy radiating from the source of his time.

  Orient came out of his meditation with a refreshed awareness of the harmonies within himself. The relationships between his mind and body were su
pple and new. But this time something else remained: a lingering sense of disturbance.

  He went back to his bedroom, took a shower, and went to bed. He tried to channel his thoughts to the editing job he had waiting for him in the morning.

  He had to cut and arrange the footage of his work with Sybelle into something usable. He only had a month.

  Just before he went to sleep, however, the smiling face he’d seen during his meditation flickered across his memory like a recurring television image, rolling monotonously over a badly tuned screen.

  2

  After two weeks of steady work, Orient managed to put together the first ten minutes of what he hoped would be a thirty-minute visual demonstration of his work in telepathy with Sybelle.

  As he went through the tedious hand process of marking the tape, cutting and splicing, he thought of the CBS Automatic Editor he once planned to add to the studio. Just mark the special screen with an electronic pencil and the computer does the rest. Handy but very expensive, and there was other lab equipment more crucially needed:

  He had cut a full twenty-one minutes of the film by the time Sybelle called to tell him SEE had agreed to consider his project. “In two weeks,” she told him breathlessly. “Isn’t it marvelous?”

  “Great.” Orient cradled the phone between his neck and shoulder as he spoke, hands moving restlessly over the strips of tape on his worktable. “Should have our visual finished by then, with luck.”

  “Well, of course you must. This is your chance to educate the public darling. They’re going to be astounded.”

  “Have you been keeping up your routine?”

  “Like a drudge. And my powers have never been keener.”

  “Who else is competing?”

  “Just some sort of girl prophet. But that’s old hat. I’ve been known to have my moments myself. The conscious transmission of thoughts is something new. I’m positive we’ll absolutely stop them dead.”

  Orient laughed. “Going to need your help to do them in, so keep on your diet. Anything else I have to do?”

  “No, I don’t think so. The conference lasts for a few days. They’re supplying the tickets so you won’t have to worry about that end, and—there was something else— oh yes, bring lots of warm clothes.”

  “How come? It’s only September.”

  Sybelle giggled. “Didn’t you know darling? Carl Bestman lives in Sweden. That’s where we meet every year. It gets very cold, very early. Better bring long Johns.” She giggled: again and hung up.

  Orient’s luck proved to be running lame during the next couple of weeks. He was plagued with underexposed images, overheated power packs, inferior skills, and an increasing desire to forget the whole thing.

  An hour and a half before he was due to meet Sybelle at the airport, he found himself still running the last three minutes through the screener. Sordi stood behind him, alternately checking his watch and giving last-minute instructions. “I packed the cashmere blazer and a couple of extra sweaters; I left the leather trench coat out. You’ll need it when you reach Stockholm.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Orient murmured, intent on the screen images. “Do you like the close-up of Sybelle here, or do you think I should splice in a medium shot?”

  Sordi glanced at his watch. “Keep the close-up. It’s more personal. The tux is packed, too.”

  Orient’s attention was still distracted as he began winding the tape. “What?”

  “Your tuxedo. It’s right on top. Hang it up right away when you get there,” Sordi explained.

  “What makes you think I’ll need a tuxedo?”

  “Sure you will, when you win the prize.” He waved away Orient’s protests and pointed at his watch. “Don’t worry about anything. Just make your speech and collect the money. Go get your coat. I’ll finish packing this stuff. We don’t have much time. We still have to pick up Sybelle.”

  When the Ghost pulled up to Sybelle’s brownstone Orient saw her sitting in front, on the sidewalk. She was perched on the largest of four pastel green suitcases that matched the color of her Laurent lapelled, shantung pantsuit. She waved and picked up a hooded, red fox fur coat that complimented the orange highlights in her hair.

  “We’re late,” she called, as Orient and Sordi started loading the bags into the trunk.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll make it.” Sordi held the door open for her. “You look great Sybelle.”

  “Why, thank you.” She smiled and lowered her lashes, silently grateful that the Rolls’ large door made a graceful entrance possible. She began to appreciate Owen’s fondness for the vintage car.

  She was bubbling with anticipation as Sordi sped along the East River Drive toward Kennedy airport. “It’s going to be a fascinating trip, darling,” she told him. “You’ll meet the biggest names in the psychic field.”

  “Looking forward to it,” Orient grunted. He was stretching the truth. Groups, gatherings, and academies made him uneasy. He preferred to work alone and avoid the inevitable politics. He took a silver case from the pocket of his coat and looked at the oval design on its surface. The swirling figure was his Mandala, his meditation scroll The case had been given to him by the master Ku many years ago in Tibet. It was a sign that the time had come for him to return to the cities after months on the mountain. It was also a reminder that he had to take part in the affairs of his time to fulfill his destiny. Orient opened the case and extracted a hand-wrapped cigarette. He looked at Sybelle. “Smoke?”

  She made a face. “You know I hate the way those things smell.” She took an envelope from her purse and fanned herself vigorously as Orient struck a match and the pungent odor wafted back.

  Orient reached over and pressed a switch. A small exhaust fan near Sybelle quickly cleared the air in the car.

  “What a good thing to have,” Sybelle said approvingly. “This museum piece of yours has its advantages.” She handed the envelope she was holding to him. “The tickets. We connect to a train when we reach Stockholm. Carl will pick us up at the station. You’ll love it. His place is so beautiful and secluded. A marvelous place for our meetings.”

  Orient nodded. “What happens during the meetings?”

  “We discuss various ventures the members bring up, examine new findings, bring up projects. Carl’s donated a lot of money to setting up a library in Amsterdam.”

  Sybelle stretched out her legs. “We all contribute. A wonderful project. The first library of psychic science.” And then, of course, after the meetings, we judge the merits of the applicants.”

  “Are you one of the judges?” Sordi inquired hopefully.

  She smiled prettily into the rear-view mirror. “Not for Owen. It wouldn’t be fair. I’ll sit it out. But he won’t need my vote.” She patted Orient’s shoulder. “His research is a real breakthrough. Carl will probably want some notes for the library.”

  “I’ll give him a copy of the tape,” Orient said, staring at the burning tip of his cigarette. “And that’s it? No other business at the conference?” He looked up.

  Sybelle wavered under the steadiness of his wide green eyes. “Well,” she smiled nervously and sat back, “of course there’s the séance.”

  She glanced at the back of Sordi’s head and lowered her voice. “Carl is very interested in contacting the dead. I usually assist. We all do.” Orient nodded, vaguely uneasy at the prospect.

  “Now I don’t have to be a mind reader to catch that stern look of disapproval,” Sybelle chided. “Don’t be such a purist darling.” She pouted at him. “I would have told you sooner, but then I’d have to sit through one of your dreary lectures about caution. And you’d probably have made a fuss about coming.”

  Orient smiled. “No fuss unless your chums try to pay us off in ectoplasm instead of cash.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Sordi said dryly. “Make your speech and collect the money.”

  “I must say your attitude is marvelously festive; pity there isn’t anything in this fancy car for a pre night celebration.”<
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  “Just pull the handle in front of you,” Orient told her. “Glasses, ice, soda, and Scotch. Sordi restocked it specially for you.”

  “How thoughtful. When we get back, we’ll have to have a nice dinner. Just the three of us.”

  “A victory dinner,” Sordi said. “And I’ll cook.”

  Orient said something, but Sybelle wasn’t listening. She was absorbed in calculating what she would wear when she next saw Sordi.

  Sybelle decided to stay with Scotch on the plane. After an hour of flight and three more drinks, she was ready to spend the next eight hours talking.

  Orient kept her busy for a while, reviewing the procedures they would go through. “We’ll screen a thirty-minute documentary then finish with a live demonstration,” he explained. “Think you’ll be able to communicate in front of an audience?”

  “I always have before darling,” Sybelle winked. “We’ll floor them. It’s just the kind or thing Carl’s been looking for. Proof of your telepathic technique will finally justify his fight to keep SEE going.” She held up her empty glass as the stewardess passed.

  “Two more,” Orient said.

  “Doubles,” Sybelle corrected. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.

  “Did Carl Bestman have much trouble organizing SEE?”

  Sybelle opened one violet-shaded eye. “His brother,” she whispered, “hates SEE. He even tried to get a court order to take over Carl’s estate. But Carl had it thrown out.”

  “It did seem strange that Anthony Bestman wouldn’t normally refer me to his brother.”

  Sybelle smiled grimly. “He’s like that. I met him once and he was terribly rude. Count Germaine told him to his face that a true sportsman never killed except for food, and never insulted a lady.” She took a mirror from her purse and hastily checked her make-up and curly halo of bright red hair. “European men are so gallant— like your friend.” She put the mirror away and leaned closer. “About how old is Sordi?”