Kothlen's death stabbed through her. Kothlen. Gone forever. Tears brimmed her eyes. Tiddy Mun lost. Mynfel's lack of help. And Kothlen… Kothlen…
She rubbed at her eyes with her knuckles, trying to keep the tears at bay. Don't think about it, she told herself. Don't remember. She tried to concentrate on Toby Weye, on how meeting him helped to soothe her heartaches. Slowly the pressure eased into a dull ache. She had to go on. It was as simple as that. Otherwise she'd sink into a downward spiral from which she'd never escape.
Toby, she thought, holding on to her recent memories of the Otherworld as though they were a lifeline. What a character. Surely there was a story in her meeting him? If she could just get working, try to put the worries aside long enough to feel real again… But her brief stay in the Otherworld had been just an interlude. The troubles hadn't gone. Kothlen wouldn't come back. But if she tried, really tried…
She wondered if Peter was awake yet. Glancing at her bedside clock, she saw that she'd slept away the better part of the day: one o'clock. Peter'd be long gone. Slipping out of bed, she padded downstairs to make some coffee and found his note waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs.
Dear Cat,
Duty called and all that. Why don't you call me when you get up? Here's hoping you dreamed, and dreamed true.
best,
Peter
She read it through on the way into the kitchen and thought about how lucky she was to have some friends in this world finally. She liked Peter, but thinking of him brought Ben's features to mind. She remembered him sitting in her kitchen last night, all big and shy. She liked him too, only in a different way, and was pretty sure that he liked her— she had seen it in his eyes.
Thinking about him gave her a warm feeling inside. She was sure that a relationship with someone like him would be so much better than the disasters her others had been. The sudden urge to call him came then. She sat down at the kitchen table and pulled the phone over. Peter would know his number.
She picked up the receiver, ready to dial, then slowly set it back down again. What would she say to Ben if she did call him? What if she had just imagined that look in his eyes last night? What if he thought she was just some flake who happened to write books that he liked?
God, things could be confusing.
She stared at the phone for long moments, building up her nerve. I'll just get his number from Peter first, she thought. Then I can decide from there. She reached for the phone again, but it jangled just before she touched it, almost lifting her from her seat. Feeling as though she'd been caught in the act of she didn't know what, she picked it up before it could ring a second time.
"Hello?"
"Uh… hello, Cat. This is… uh… Ben— uh, Ben Summerfield, and I was… uh…"
"I was just thinking about you."
There was a moment's silence on the other end of the line, then Ben asked, "You were?"
For some reason the surprise in his voice and his shyness made Cat feel less shy herself. "I was just going to call Peter to ask him for your number."
"You were?" Ben repeated, then he seemed to catch himself. "Jeez, that's great. I mean, well, what I was calling for was to, uh, ask you if you'd maybe like to go to a movie or something with me tonight, maybe."
The warm feeling that Cat had felt thinking about him earlier seemed to blossom inside her. "I'd love to."
"You would? That's great! Would you like to go for dinner before the movie?"
"That'd be really nice, Ben."
Cat could feel him grinning from the other end of the line, which made her smile.
"I guess I'll pick you up around six," he said. "Would that be okay?"
"Sure. Six would be fine. I'm glad you called, Ben."
"Me too." He seemed about to say good-bye, but then he cleared his throat. "I was talking to Peter this morning," he said, "and he inadvertently let out this thing about your dreams."
Cat thought she'd die. Her pleasure at talking to him went cold inside her. "He… what?" she asked in a small voice.
"He didn't mean to," Ben said quickly. "We were just talking about the Dude and last night and stuff and— well, I just wanted to let you know that, while I'm not sure I understand it all, I'm backing you all the way. And I'm not just saying that to humor you, Cat."
"I…" She didn't know what to say.
"I thought it was important to let you know that I knew— just to be, you know, up front about it all." He hesitated, waiting for her to say something. When there was no reply, he went on. "Look, if you, uh, want to call off tonight, I'll understand."
"It's not that," she managed finally. "It's just… I don't know…"
"You're not mad, are you?"
Cat thought about it, and realized that what she felt was relief, mixed with a certain amount of embarrassment, but relief all the same. "No, I'm not mad," she said. "I'll see you tonight, okay?"
After they said their good-byes, Cat put the receiver down and stared at the phone. Strangely enough, everything did feel fine. For all her embarrassment, the pressures inside her had eased as though someone had just pulled the plug on the tension that had been winding her up so tight. Peter… Thinking about him now, she had an inkling of where he was coming from. He hadn't betrayed their friendship. No. He'd just decided to play matchmaker.
Shaking her head, she reached for the phone again and dialed the number for the store.
Peter looked across the store after he hung up and thought, Doesn't that beat all? Imagine Ben telling Cat about their talk this morning. But that was Ben, always up front about everything.
Had anyone asked Peter how Cat would react to the news that someone else knew about her secrets, someone she hadn't told, he would have said that she could very easily withdraw into her shell again. He wouldn't have taken the chance of mentioning a word to her about it himself— not until she brought it up first. But Ben… well, he had to be doing something right. Instead of being mad, Cat had actually sounded happy. And it was obvious that she was looking forward to her date with him tonight.
Peter smiled, relaxing for the first time all day. Maybe they'd soon be seeing an end to ghosts and Otherworlds— and to weird guys hiding in the shadows, waiting to steal peoples' dreams. Christ, he hoped so.
"Snakes?" Potter asked.
Bill was sitting across the desk from him, filling Potter in on his interview with Ron Wilson. The pencil in Potter's hand beat its inevitable tattoo against the pad in front of him. Bill looked up from his notes and nodded.
"That's what Wilson said. Snakes, or a man with a snake's head."
"Shit. What's that supposed to mean?"
"Only thing I can think of is voodoo," Bill said.
Potter grinned at him. "Right."
"C'mon, Potsy. You think I buy that? But what I am thinking is, if we've got a wacko, or a bunch of wackos that do believe…"
"I see what you mean. They can do as much damage as the real thing. We got anything along those lines?"
"It's being run through Ceepik right now," Bill replied.
"What about this guy in Central Park?"
"I was getting to that. I did some checking around the hospitals, and the first place I hit, bingo! A young woman was brought into the Civic late yesterday evening by the name of"— he consulted his notes— "Lisa Henderson. She was found in a catatonic state in Dundonald Park last night, and died early this morning. She had no history of emotional disorders or that kind of thing. The doctor I talked to said it was like her body just shut down."
The pencil went still in Potter's hand. "And?"
Bill smiled. "I went up to the park and had a look around, talked to a few people. A"— he checked his notes again— "Mr. Winters remembers seeing Henderson in the park last night with a young guy—"
"Blond-haired, well-dressed…"
"Not exactly. Winters was out walking his dog at the time. Says he didn't get all that good a look. Henderson's companion was dark-haired, casually dressed. What Winters reme
mbers is his eyes— forceful, he called them. A piercing blue. Said the guy just glanced at him and he felt like those eyes went right through him. Gave him a creepy feeling like"— Bill read from his notes— "he'd 'put his hand in a nest of snakes.' That's what made it click for me."
Potter frowned. His instincts were buzzing up a storm. "What do you think, Bill? Is it worth putting an APB out on him?"
Bill shrugged. "I don't know, Potsy. We'd need both descriptions. Wilson didn't say anything about weird eyes, but—"
"I've got a feeling," Potter said.
"It's not a hell of a lot to go on."
"Don't I know it? But what else have we got? At least we can have the uniforms keep an eye out for him."
12
The Hunt Begins
Debbie felt overdressed when they arrived at Stella's apartment. Where she and Rick were dressed for the office— he in a summer-weight light-brown suit, she in a knee-length slitted skirt, designer blouse, nylons, and high heels— Stella looked enviably comfortable in a pair of hip-hugging jeans and a dusty rose T-shirt.
"Hi," Stella said brightly, stepping aside so that they could come in. "Glad you could make it."
She closed the door and locked it. Rick mumbled something, and Debbie thrust out her hand to Stella.
"Hello, yourself," she said. "I'm Debbie Mitchell."
Stella shook without any firmness to her grip. "Nice to meet you," she said.
Something about her made Debbie pause. It was in her eyes. They had a not-quite focused look about them. Maybe she'd been building up her nerve by smoking a joint or starting early on the drinks. She could do with a drink herself, Debbie decided. Then she saw that a fourth person had been added to their cozy threesome.
"Rick and… um, Debbie," Stella said. "This is Lucius Marn."
Gorgeous was the first word that Debbie came up with to describe him. But then, just as Stella's eyes belied the cheerful hostess image she was trying to put across, this man's eyes radiated cold, raw power. There was a fresh scar on his cheek that lent him an even more fiendish air.
She sat down on the couch across from Lysistratus and nodded hello. She could hear Rick ask Stella in a stage whisper, "Who the hell's he?" Lysistratus ignored him, and Debbie missed Stella's reply. She was too busy watching Lysistratus watch her. All his attention was focused on her, and she was beginning to feel more than a little uncomfortable. She was used to being stared at— liked it, in fact, so long as it didn't get too weird. This was getting weird.
She tugged her skirt hem down to her knees, but couldn't concentrate on what she was doing. Those blue eyes, crystalline and compelling, seemed to draw her right out of herself. She felt as though she were falling into darkness. The last thing she heard was Rick's voice, edged with concern.
"Debbie? Hey, Debbie? Are you all right?"
No, she wasn't all right. But she couldn't answer because her vocal chords were paralyzed and every bone in her body had turned to jelly. Her head slumped back against the couch's cushions.
Lysistratus was in a good mood.
The woman was remarkably well-endowed, but she had an appeal beyond her obvious physical attractions. There was a vitality in her that promised strong dreams. She had a defined sense of self as well, though it was weakened by a willingness to care for others. The potential for too much loyalty— to her friends, to the human race in general— lay inside her. Such attributes were liabilities for what Lysistratus had in mind. Regrettably, she would be useful for nourishment only. But her companion…
He was an excellent specimen. A strong sense of self ran through him, a loutish concern for himself above all others. He lived for sensual gratification, which made him a perfect subject for Lysistratus's uses.
Debbie was quick to fall under his influence, unconscious moments after he'd made eye contact and touched her mind. Later he would make her sleep and dream. Later she would gratify his needs in ways that Rick could never imagine. But first he must deal with Rick.
"Debbie? Hey, Debbie? Are you all right?"
Rick bent over her worriedly, then turned to look at Stella. She regarded him blankly, as though her mind had shut down. Frowning, he turned to Lysistratus. The parasite was waiting for him, eyes flaring with power, a thin smile on his lips.
What's with this guy? Rick thought. He looks like he wants to—
Pain exploded in Rick's skull. A cold fire spun through his body like a vortex, centering in his groin. His mind flooded with apocalyptic visions that ranged from Miltonesque hellscapes to the final horror of his own death. He saw his face deteriorate with age, his body become frail and brittle. Death came to him, moment by inexorable moment, until he was nothing but bones and a mouldering skull fit only to house maggots and worms, until bone became dust, and no trace of the man he'd been remained at all.
In the lifespan of the universe he was shown to be less than a mote, his life as pointless and inconsequential to the overall order of things as some one-celled microscopic organism's life was to his. The truth settled in him and he fled screaming deep inside himself, desperate to escape it.
But wait, a voice called softly in his head, drawing him back to view other possibilities. It doesn't have to be like that.
New imagery cascaded through his wounded soul. He saw life unending, saw himself wielding power over others until he was godlike in his stature. He learned how the life essence of his fellow men could feed his own immortal soul. He saw himself savagely coupling with overpowered partners, debasing them as he took and took, giving nothing in return, leaving them as less than nothing, while he grew stronger still.
Imagine the pleasure, the voice whispered to him, of loosing your seed into a victim as you feed on their soul.
Lysistratus knew Rick, knew just what was needed to play the man like a marionette.
The apocalypse inside Rick lay forgotten. Aging and his own inevitable death faded until all he could see was the proffered power. Greedy, Rick reached for it, understanding that it lay dormant in each and every human soul. It was a dark core of self, fueled by the primal instinct of self-preservation above all other considerations. An evil that needed only a key to be unleashed inside him. A key that he was now offered.
But remember, the cold voice inside him warned. What I have given, I can take back. Then slowly the presence withdrew from his mind.
Rick staggered, staring wildly about as his eyes came back into focus. The dark knowledge, the power seeded in him, muttered sibilantly in the back of his mind. He stepped up to Stella, lifting trembling hands to cup her face. The power reared inside him. A pulse fed through his hands like liquid fire as her energies filled him, roiling inside him, lifting him to a crescendo that he could no longer bear.
He dropped his hands and stared stupidly at them while the stolen strength rushed through him— ambrosial, a sweetness that made him want to weep with the pleasure of its taste inside him. He regarded Lysistratus with tears blurring his gaze.
"Jesus fuck," he mumbled. "It… I…"
Lysistratus smiled. He had felt that same blind euphoria when he had come into his own power. His mentor had been Agis, a scholar of Delos whom he met in the agora of the Delians in the same year that the island broke free of neighboring Naxos— Agis, who would still be alive today if he hadn't had a falling out with an actor in Athenae and been stupid enough to drink wine laced with hemlock when it was offered to him.
The actor had thought himself a good friend of Lysistratus's before he died.
The parasite had rarely shared his gift with anyone else in the ensuing years. He knew too well how easily it could backfire on him. But sometimes it was necessary— though in each such case, the favors had been taken back once their recipients had served their purpose. Lysistratus had learned the lesson that Agis never had.
"What… what do I have to do to… to keep this?" Rick asked.
Lysistratus laughed. "Nothing you won't enjoy."
More images filled Rick's mind— faces, thought patterns. C
oupled with them was the information he would need to track them down. A feral light glittered in Rick's eyes as he turned to leave. He paused at the door as Lysistratus called after him.
"You can do what you want with the others," the parasite said, "but the woman's mine."
Rick grinned. "Sounds like a good deal to me."
"Oh, it is," Lysistratus said as the door closed. He turned his attention to the two women— Debbie lying slack on the couch, Stella weaving where she stood, eyes blind though they were open and staring. "It's a real bargain."
Tiddy Mun crept out from under the refuse he'd been hiding in all day, changing from cat shape to gnome then back again. His every nerve was stretched taut as a bowstring. The night had come, and it was time for him to begin his search. But now that the moment was at hand, he wasn't sure he could go through with it.
The shadows surrounding him were dark— more so because of the pools of too-bright light just beyond them. Anything could be lying in wait for him. There was too much noise beyond the alleyway, too many iron dragons, too many shadows. Too much of everything and not enough of him. He was only one very small and frightened gnome.
At length the alleyway itself became oppressive, and he ventured out beyond its mouth, onto the street. He cast back and forth, trying to find the one mind among the many that he was looking for. He pictured the banded hair, the knife blade, the courage…. When he found it at last, he hurried off, hugging the walls of the buildings. He threw many a backward glance over his shoulder, his little heart pounding hard in his chest through the whole nightmare journey.
The ending went as perfectly as either Cat or Ben could have hoped it would.
They had a leisurely dinner at Tramps— one of the many trendy restaurants that were slowly taking over the Old Market area. Both of them enjoyed the decor— which consisted mainly of floor-to-ceiling bookcases loaded with old, leather-bound volumes— and their roast beef. From there they drove to the Westgate Shopping Mall and waited in line with a hundred other people to see Spielberg's E.T. They laughed and cried in all the same places and came out holding hands, feeling the warmth of a shared experience and a new closeness.