Lady Sativa Read online

  “Please call me Lily,” the girl said as she uncoiled her body and rose from her chair.

  For the second time since he’d entered the house, Orient found it difficult to breathe.

  Her hair had the burnished bronze color of fall leaves. Shades of rust and glints of red weaved through the thick strands cascading down the back of her jade-green velvet dress. The headband made of beads lent a savage highlight to her yellow-flecked, amber eyes. Her face was finely featured, but there was a reckless curl to her sculptured hips. Full breasts widened the deep opening of her neckline, thrusting against the soft fabric of her dress. The only flaws on her golden skin were a trio of freckles on the edge of her small, straight nose. “Lily Sativa,” she said. Her voice was as warm as the fingers that gripped his hand.

  “Owen Orient,” he replied, his senses activated by her touch.

  She looked at him with curiosity. She was about to speak when Germaine interrupted. “Lily is my latest discovery. Like your Dr. Orient.”

  “Looks like you’ve lost her to Owen,” a high, mocking voice observed. Orient realized he was still holding Lily’s fingers. He let go of her hand and turned in the direction of the voice.

  “If it should matter to you, and I’m sure it doesn’t, my name is Maxwell Andersen,” a pudgy youth was saying. He held out a round, pink hand that was covered with rings.

  His expression was hidden behind a pouting smile, and reflecting sunglasses. The hand he offered was limp.

  Orient grinned. “You’re very observant, Maxwell.”

  “Now that you’ve all finished introducing yourselves,” Anthony Bestman barked from across the room, “perhaps you’d all be so gracious as to leave my brother’s study. There’s no longer any reason to be here. Your meeting is finished.” He folded his arms across his chest. “You’re all crazy, anyhow. Do better to book yourselves in a good rest home.”

  “You’re mistaken, Mr. Bestman,” Germaine told him, a slight rueful smile playing at the edge of his words. “We are not finished. Dr. Orient hasn’t yet been introduced to Professor Hazer. Daniel, this is our eminent young physician from New York. Sybelle’s candidate.”

  A bent, rumpled old man wearing a dusty blue suit’ stepped forward and stiffly grasped Orient’s hand. “Daniel Hazer,” he said curtly, squinting his rheumy blue eyes through thick glasses.

  As he went through the strained charade of introduction, Orient could feel Bestman’s angry stare on his back.

  “Daniel has had the most fascinating career,*’ Sybelle said sweetly, breaking the tension.”Do get him to tell you about his methods.” She looked up. “Wasn’t someone going to get me a drink?”

  Bestman slammed a big hand down on the desk. “You forget that a man is dead m this house.”

  Germaine looked at him and shrugged. “We are perhaps more sensitive to that fact than you might imagine.”

  Please, Anthony,” Neilson rumbled. The squat lawyer was standing in the doorway. “Everything is according to your brother’s wishes.” He walked over to the desk “and handed Bestman an envelope.”This is a copy of a letter dated six months ago.” He turned and came over to the couch. “Be seated,” he said gruffly. “There is something I must discuss. Please pour me a brandy, Count Germaine.”

  As Germaine went to the cabinet, Bestman crumpled the letter he was reading into a ball, threw it on the floor, and left the room.

  “What a relief.” Sybelle patted the cushion next to her. “Do join me,” she said, beaming at Neilson. The others sat down in a circle around the lawyer.

  Orient accepted Maxwell’s armchair then was vaguely disturbed when the young man perched on the edge of Lily’s chair. He wondered if he was jealous. She smiled at something Maxwell was whispering in her ear.

  Neilson waited until Germaine had served all of them before speaking. He extended his neck and looked around. “Here’s to Carl Bestman, may he rest in peace. Skoal.1* He took a long swallow of his brandy. “Now let us go over the matters that concern us here.” He took an envelope from his pocket and gave it to Germaine. The tall man set down his snifter and extracted two folded sheets of paper. “It’s dated April 15 of this year,” he murmured. After a moment’s hesitation, he began reading.

  Esteemed friends of the highest path I greet you. I write this so that if something unforeseen should occur, our efforts will continue. I wish to entrust Count Germaine of Amsterdam, a great spiritual force in my life, with the management of SEE’s financial and scientific welfare. In the event that SEE should cease to function for lack of membership, all assets should revert to the maintenance of our library in Amsterdam as a permanent archive.

  In my main will I’ve bequeathed half my liquid estate, as well as all my properties, to my wife Hannah. To SEE I’ve left the other half of the liquid assets (list attached to Will) and I ask Count Germaine to accept this trust in my behalf.

  I also leave to SEE the grounds on which our library stands in hope that a workshop can be maintained on the site.

  To Sybelle Lean, our most gracious and lovely medium, I bequeath my collection of Crystal Skrying Globes, in hopes that she might discover more happiness there than their previous owner.

  To Professor Daniel Hazer I leave my camera equipment and all fond wishes for his devoted healing of man’s weak, pitiful body.

  To Maxwell Andersen, brilliant and headstrong young colleague, I leave my carved bone Nepalese chess set and this advice: listen very carefully before you speak and study the board well before you move.

  I request that our membership be enlarged immediately to five, and even more if dedicated seekers are available, in order that our work continues to grow.

  To SEE’s archives I leave my unpublished thesis detailing my fifteen-year research into the nature, cause, and cure of Lycanthropic Schizophrenia. I ask that copies of this thesis be distributed to the surviving members of SEE in hopes that my work in this field will be continued.

  I request that my Lawyer and trusted friend, Nels Neilson, be allowed to take my place, at subsequent meetings until a fifth member is named.

  I finally, urgently request that a séance be held, in hopes that perhaps I can once more communicate with my beloved associates.

  Germaine looked up. “It’s signed by Carl.”

  “He was such a dedicated man,” Sybelle sniffed.

  Professor Hazer took a gray, tattered handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his glasses. “Were it not for Carl, I could have never erected my clinic. There are so few men in the world like him.”

  “I’m sure I speak for all of us,” Germaine said softly, “when I say that every one of Carl’s wishes will be carried out to our utmost ability.”

  Neilson nodded. “I’m sure. I was close to Carl and he told me a great deal about your fine work. You now have the responsibility of managing a trust of eight million dollars m cash and negotiable securities. Use it well.”

  “Well, Carl certainly wasn’t one of your bloody Swedish tightwads, was he?” Maxwell poked Lily. “That’s rather heavy bread.”

  “Now, now,” Hazer clucked gently. He placed his glasses on the bridge of his nose and squinted at Andersen. “Carl was a rare man. That’s to be respected.”

  Maxwell frowned and flicked an imaginary ash from his lapel. “I have all respect for Carl, but it doesn’t mean that I should respond to tribal, emotional conditioning and revert to crude ritualistic behavior in the face of death,” he said in a bored flat voice. “Carl believed, as all of us in SEE do, that death is a transition to a more efficient existence. Perhaps you haven’t exorcised the primitive fears we’ve inherited Professor, but those who have shouldn’t be expected to give up their franchise on freedom.”

  Sybelle hurried to break the awkward silence that followed. “But how did this horrible thing happen? On you tell me Mr. Neilson. Was anyone here?”

  Neilson pulled his bald head in closer to his body. “Just Hannah. Carl shot himself with a hunting rifle two days ago. Hannah found him and called th
e police.”

  Sybelle frowned. “I didn’t know Carl owned a hunting rifle.”

  “Apparently, it was Anthony’s.” Sybelle nodded as if the fact held great significance for her. “And where was Anthony when it happened?”

  Neilson smiled. “In my office, Miss Lean.”

  “Oh,” she said in a small voice.

  “The police were quite satisfied,” Neilson went on, “and so was I. Carl had been extremely despondent lately.”

  “That’s right,” Germaine put in quickly. “I’ve never seen him so—” he hesitated, searching for the proper word—”melancholy. He sent me three letters early this year, each time repeating he was desperately tired.”

  Orient glanced at Lily. She was watching Germaine from under blue-shadowed eyelids. She could have been listening to a description or a dinner party. But even composed and relaxed, her lithe body seemed to be poised at the edge of explosive motion.

  Maxwell’s plump, jeweled fingertips rested lightly on her shoulder. Orient wondered if they were good friends. He hoped not. He’d already decided that Lily was too much of a good thing.

  Lily turned and saw him staring at her. Her lovely face never changed its expression of serene indifference.

  “Perhaps we should have our regular meeting after lunch tomorrow. Afterwards, we can hold a séance for Carl tomorrow night.” He looked around at the others. “Do you agree? That way we can leave promptly and not disturb Hannah any more than necessary.”

  “I agree.” Hazer pulled a battered pipe from his pocket. “Hannah’s under a great strain. I could feel it when I first saw her this morning.” He produced a worn pouch from another pocket and began filling the pipe, spilling crumbs of tobacco over his wrinkled suit. She needs a long rest.”

  “What do you mean, Daniel?” Sybelle asked nervously.

  He looked at her over the bowl of his pipe. “She’s completely exhausted.” He struck a match. “Sea air and sun is what she needs. Plenty of liver, figs, and herbs. Maybe Italy.”

  Germaine turned to Neilson. “Professor Hazer has the gift of healing. He’s able to diagnose physical illness even, from photographs sent to him.”

  “Yes,” Neilson said, looking shrewdly at Hazer. “Carl told me a great deal about the members of SEE. I myself have no special gifts in the, er... psychic field, but I’m very interested in your work.” He looked up at Orient and Lily. “Carl even told me a little of the two young people who are candidates for his award.” He smiled. I’m looking forward to seeing your talents.”

  “I heard that Dr. Orient was going to revolutionize the concept of the human brain.” He studied the rings on his hands. “Is that true, Sybelle? Perhaps you can give us a sneak preview.”

  “Oh, Maxwell, darling, do be patient,” she scolded. “Owen is exhausted and so am I. As a matter of fact, I’d like to go to bed if there’s no other business.”

  “Yes, all of us have had a long, hard day,” Germaine stood up. “Will you be staying overnight, Mr. Neilson?”

  “No. I have a place a few kilometers from here.” He got to his feet. “I’ll see you all tomorrow afternoon. At the meeting.”

  Sybelle came over to Orient’s chair as Germaine went with Neilson to the door. “Let’s get our bags and go upstairs,” she whispered. She looked at him knowingly. “I want to talk to you.”

  Orient nodded, his full attention distracted by Lily’s presence. She was still sitting, talking to Maxwell. All that could be seen of Andersen’s face under his bangs and reflecting glasses was his pouting, self-indulgent lips. , Orient didn’t know if it was Maxwell’s personality or his proximity to Lily that brought up a sense of annoyance. He got up and went into the hall.

  “Come doctor,” Germaine waved from the front door. “I’ll help you with your luggage.”

  When Orient went outside, the icy wind immediately permeated the warmth he’d come to take for granted. He picked up the suitcase containing the screener and hoped that exposure to the biting cold hadn’t frozen the mechanism.

  “These must be Sybelle’s,” Germaine said. “They match her beautiful suit. I’ll take care of her luggage. Come with me. I’ll show you your room.” He put two of the suitcases under his arms then picked up the other two and walked ahead of Orient into the house. As he followed him Orient recalled that he’d found Sybelle’s bags to be extremely heavy. Yet Germaine handled them as if they were hollow stage props as he led the way up the long stairway to the second floor.

  Germaine set the bags down in front of a door at the head of the stairs. “This is your room, doctor. I’m sorry that this tragedy has prevented us from making you more comfortable.”

  “Please call on me if there’s anything I can do to help you or Mrs. Bestman.”

  It was difficult to tell if Germaine’s small smile was rueful or mocking. “Thank you, doctor. We shall all try to comfort Hannah in this time of sadness. Sleep well.”

  Orient opened the door and stepped inside a comfortable, wood-paneled room appointed with a full-sized four-poster bed. Near the bed, next to a ceiling-high window, was a bookcase holding an assortment of volumes. A door in the far wall led to a bathroom and shower. Orient undressed, put oh a terrycloth robe, unpacked the rest of his clothing, and then began working on the equipment.

  He’d just begun to wipe the moisture from the laptop casing when he heard a light knock. The door opened slightly. “Are you awake?” a high voice asked. ,

  The door opened wider and Sybelle peeped in past the edge, her eyes wide under an orange-flowered bed hat. “Marvelous darling,” she whispered, “I was hoping you’d wait up.”

  “Wait up for what?”

  Sybelle closed the door behind her and came over to the bed. She pulled her quilted pink robe tighter around her and sat down. “There’s something that bothers me about all this, Owen,” she announced.

  “It must be quite a shock.”

  Sybelle lowered her voice and leaned across the bed. “Carl would never use a rifle. He detested violence. And certainly he wouldn’t have used his brother’s rifle. And there’s something else, too.” She waited until a murmur of voices outside the door had passed before going on. “The thesis in his will. The Lycanthropic Schizophrenia experiments,” she whispered triumphantly.

  Orient unscrewed the back of the screener. “Must be an interesting study; the myth of the man-beast has been around for a long time. Even a few cases in modern psychiatric records. But nothing definitive. Still rare and incurable.”

  “I knew Carl for ten years and he never mentioned a word about his research. Sybelle jabbed Orient’s shoulder. “And Daniel Hazer told me the same thing.”

  “We were friends for a long time before you knew I was involved with telepathy,” Orient reminded as he began wiping off the main tubes. “And Professor Hazer seems to be a forgetful sort.”

  “Yes. He is absent-minded.” Sybelle tapped her forehead. “He’s so completely involved with his healing that he’s sometimes unaware of time. He’s helped thousands of people all over the world. I’ve been to his clinic in Brooklyn. He takes ordinary snapshots people send him and from the vibrations makes accurate medical readings. Simply stunning. He cured an aunt of mine of terrible stomach cramps. He located a small clamp that had been left inside her after an operation. It had been there for years. Never showed up anywhere. But Daniel found it through a photograph I gave him of my aunt. Her bad side. I called her doctor in St. Louis and when he checked he found the clamp.”

  “Still doesn’t follow that Hazer would know everything about Carl’s work. Hannah and Neilson seem to be satisfied it was suicide.”

  “I just don’t like any of it,” Sybelle insisted, “especially Anthony being here.”

  Orient opened the case that held the CDs and began to sort them. “He does make it unpleasant. It will be a pleasure to leave tomorrow.”

  “We must stay for the séance,” Sybelle stated emphatically. “I wouldn’t dream of going without fulfilling poor Carl’s last wish.
I’m sure he wants to tell us something.”

  Orient wiped the moisture off the CDs and replaced them in the case. “What about Lady Sativa?” he asked casually. “You didn’t tell me about her.”

  “Interested?” Sybelle teased. “She’s the competition.”

  Orient smiled at her. “Did Germaine mention what sort of project she’s working on?”

  “No he didn’t, but I’ve seen her before. She’s been in all the magazines in London. They call her the Moon Lady because during the full phase of the moon she can foresee the most amazing things. She called the Los Angeles earthquake to the day.”

  “Sounds hard to beat,” Orient observed as he began placing the equipment back in his suitcase. “Don’t let your mind wander too far or you’ll have to hock your fur to get us home.”

  Sybelle stood up. “Perhaps you’re right, Owen,” she sighed. “This has all been so shattering. I’ll speak to Mr. Neilson in the morning. And do stop fussing over that gear and get some sleep yourself.”

  Orient was still thinking about Lily after he’d arranged his things and gone to bed. As he lay in the darkness, he heard the wind rattle the window and saw the shadows cast by the moonlight move across the glass. He remembered the golden perfection of Lily’s skin, the bronze hair spilling over her rounded breasts. It had been a long time since nearness to a woman had brought such an exhilarating attraction. He felt drawn to her as if she was an old friend—a dim, lovely recollection from a forgotten reality.

  ‘.The memory of Germaine’s face intruded On his thoughts. He hadn’t forgotten where he’d seen the count before tonight. As Orient recalled the looming image of his meditative trance, he noted that the surprise that scattered his thoughts when he first saw Germaine had been replaced by a sense of wariness.

  In spite of his affable, courtly manner he remained unconvinced of Germaine’s sincerity. Orient got the impression that he was being carefully sized up by the count. The fencer testing an adversary. Orient yawned. It was absurd. He’d only seen the man once before. He speculated if the vision in his meditation was significant or just a phenomenon of concentration, like a radio picking up vagrant signals from another band. He fell asleep wondering if Lily and Maxwell were old friends from London.