She saw the entrance of some kind of church—no, a temple, definitely not a church. She saw it but she wasn’t there, couldn’t have been there; this was a time before she’d been born. Her disembodied presence scanned a nighttime street and then floated up the temple steps past the man on the door who seemed to be frozen. She had a glimpse of a great room aglow with candles, two columns, and a man on a platform, wearing some kind of gaudy red and white thing over his front, just before the screams began.
Not just screams but screams, SCREAMS, ripped from the throat of a soul gone forfeit. The sound stabbed into her. There was time for her point of view to swing around cameralike so she could see it was the little man screaming, the Astronomer, staggering into the hall. Then there was a fast jumble of pictures, a jackal face, a hawk’s head, another man, his wide face pale; light glinting off the little man’s glasses and then some kind of a thing, a creature-thing-slime-mass-damned-thing-thing-thing—
She found herself sitting up in bed, her arms thrown up in front of her face.
“TIAMAT.” Unbidden, the word came to her, and unwanted it hung there in the darkness. She rubbed her face with both hands and lay down again.
The dream returned immediately, dragging her under with horrible strength. The little man with the enormous head was smiling at her—no, not at her, she wasn’t there and she was glad; she didn’t ever want anyone to smile at her that way. Her point of view drew back and she saw that he was now standing on the platform, and around him she saw several figures—Roman, the red man, and the oriental woman, a thin wreck of a man with the feel of death about him, a woman with regret so etched into her features that it hurt to look at her (somehow she knew the woman was a nurse), a young albino man with a prematurely old face, a creature—male, she thought—that might have been an anthropomorphic cockroach. There but for the grace of God, she thought.
God is still out on coffee break, little girl. She was looking into the face of the man who had brought her here, the one they called Judas. He was the only one who could see her. It’s just the luck of the draw, babe, and you were lucky. And so was I. Blackjack!
Everything went dark. There was a sensation of incredibly fast movement. Something was propelling her toward a tiny point of light far ahead in the blackness.
And then suddenly she was there; the light swelled from a pinpoint to a fiery mass and she hit going full-out at the speed of thought. The light shattered and she was tumbling softly on the mossy floor of a forest. She rolled over once and came to rest gently at the base of a large tree.
Well, she thought, this is more like it. I must have missed the White Rabbit, but the Mad Hatter ought to be around here somewhere. She shifted position and found she had to grab hold of a large root to keep from floating away.
Look, whispered a voice very close to her ear. She turned her head, her hair floating around her as though she were underwater, but she saw no one. Look. Look! Look and you’ll see them!
A puff of mist blew between two larches in front of her and disintegrated, leaving behind a man dressed in the height of eighteenth-century finery. His face was aristocratic, his eyes so piercing that she caught her breath as his gaze rested on her. But she had nothing to fear. He turned; the air beside him shimmered and a strange machine melted into existence. She blinked several times, trying to see it clearly, but the angles refused to resolve themselves. Try as she would, she couldn’t tell whether it was large and sharp-cornered or small and molded, sculpted in marble or nailed together with wood and rags. Something glimmered and detached itself from the machine. She marveled; a part of it had just gotten up and walked away.
No. What she thought was part of the machine was a living being. She wanted to pull her gaze away just for a moment but she couldn’t. It wouldn’t let her. Alien. Reminiscent of certain other aliens she’d seen on the news in the attack. Jumpin’ Jack Flash. The thought was neatly shoved aside.
The alien turned to the man and stretched out an arm, or some appendage. Now it began to look more like living matter than part of a machine. The alien smoothed into something roughly bipedal though it seemed to be holding the form only by sheer will—the ergotic hypothesis (where had that come from?). The appendage touched the machine and melted into it. A moment later something protruded from the side near the man. He took hold of it and very carefully removed it. The alien sank a little, diminished. She realized it had expended a great deal of its life-force to give the man—what?
The man held the thing to his lips, his forehead, and then lifted it high overhead. Briefly, it took on the form of a human bone, a club, a gun, then something else.
Shakti, whispered the voice. Remember this. The Shakti device.
I’ll never forget it, she thought. The floating feeling was starting to leave her and she grew afraid.
Now, look. Look up.
Unwillingly, she raised her head and looked up at the sky. Her vision shot up, racing through the sunlight, through the blue, through clouds, until it left the Earth entirely and she was looking at the naked stars. The stars dispersed before her until she was staring into the blackness of space, and still her vision was traveling.
Something was there ahead of her, invisible in the blackness. Something … it was so far away she could not begin to conceive of the distance. It was on its way to Earth. It had been this far away in 1777, when that man (Cagliostro, said her mind and she didn’t wonder how she knew) had accepted the thing—Shakti—from the alien and then—and then—went on to perform many feats seen as miraculous including mind reading, levitation, transubstantiation, amazing all those in the courts of Europe while passionately recruiting for the Egyptian Freemasons.…
She struggled to absorb the information pouring into her from the dream. Not that it mattered, because when she woke up she wouldn’t remember any of it. That was the way it was with dreams. Wasn’t it?
… because he wanted an organization that would keep the Shakti device safe and hand it down from generation to generation, to only the most trusted people, until its mysteries could be unlocked and completed, when it would be needed for the arrival on Earth of—
Something writhed in the darkness ahead of her. Or perhaps the darkness itself was writhing in agony at having to contain this thing, this—
—for the arrival on Earth of—
It burst upon her without warning or mercy, far worse than it had been when she touched it in the Astronomer’s mind. It was the gathering, the congealing, of the highest, lowest, most developed, polished, and refined forms of evil in the universe, evil that made the greatest human atrocities seem petty by comparison, evil she could not understand except with her gut, evil that had been rushing toward this world for thousands of years, swallowing anything in its path, evil that would be arriving any day now, any day—
TIAMAT.
She woke up screaming. Hands were on her and she fought them, twisting, striking out. Water poured over her, thickening the air, soaking the bed and the rug.
“Sh, sh, it’s all right,” said a voice. Not the voice from her dream but a female voice. The oriental woman Kim Toy was there, trying to soothe her as though she were a delirious child. A light went on; Kim Toy enfolded her in a calming embrace. She let herself be held and willed the water flowing over both of them to stop.
“I’m okay,” she said when she could speak. Her wet hair dripped into her eyes, mixing with her tears. The whole bed was drenched, but she saw with a little relief that she had spared the rest of the room.
“You were screaming,” Kim Toy said. “I thought someone was killing you.”
TIAMAT. “I had a nightmare.”
Kim Toy stroked her wet hair gently. “A nightmare?”
“I dreamt someone threw a bucket of worms in my face.”
The Astronomer roared with laughter. “Oh, she’s excellent, she really is excellent!”
The albino sitting on the floor next to the wheelchair looked up at him imploringly.
“Was it a good dre
am, then?”
“Oh, yes, the dream was excellent too.” The Astronomer petted the white hair. “You did it just right, Revenant.”
The man smiled, the prematurely aged skin around his pink eyes crinkling with pathetic joy.
“Roman.”
Across the shadowy room, Roman looked up from the computer display terminal.
“We’ll give her just a little more time for the horror to sink in before you introduce her to the rest of our little confederation. And keep Kim Toy mothering her.”
Roman nodded, glancing surreptitiously at the computer terminal.
“Tomorrow night again, Revenant,” the Astronomer said to the albino. “You’ll do it once more. I want her to wake up screaming for the next two nights.”
The pink eyes lowered with shame.
“Now, now. You know you’re better off than before, when you were selling perverts wet dreams at ten bucks a crack. If you’ll pardon the expression.” The Astronomer chuckled. “You’re one of my most useful aces. Now, go get some rest yourself.”
As soon as the albino disappeared down a darkened gallery, the Astronomer sagged in his wheelchair. “Demise.”
Demise was at his side instantly.
“Yes, Demise. We both need it now, don’t we? Call for the car.”
Roman remained at the computer terminal as Demise wheeled the Astronomer out. Going out to find some poor streetwalking scumbag who didn’t know this would be her last date. He refused to think about it. He would not feel sorry for any of them, he would not. All of them—Revenant, Kim Toy, Red, Judas, John F. X. Black, Coleman Hubbard (oh, hadn’t that been a piece of work, the Astronomer’s big ace in the hole, one-zero-zero-one), even that little piece of innocence Jane Water Lily—they were all the same, every one of them. Pawns in the Astronomer’s game. Himself, too, but only for Ellie’s sake, to try to protect her.
ELLIE, he typed, the letters glowing on the monitor. I LOVE YOU.
The words I LOVE YOU, TOO flashed briefly on the screen before they were replaced by INVALID ENTRY, NULL PROGRAM.
Somewhere else in town, Fortunato woke, shuddering, his face covered with cold sweat.
“Easy. Easy, baby.” Michelle’s voice was gentle, her hands soft and warm. “Michelle’s got you. I’m here, honey, I’m here.”
Fortunato allowed her to gather him into her arms and press his face to her perfect breasts.
“It’s those dreams again, isn’t it? Don’t worry. I’m here.”
He nuzzled her, stroking the warm flesh and willing her to sleep. Then he slipped out of her embrace and locked himself in the elegant bathroom.
Once you were in, you were in. What was learned could not be unlearned. Knowledge was power, and power could trap.
He would have to call Tachyon; better, go down to the Village and wake him up.
Eileen.
Fortunato clenched his eyes shut until the thought of her had passed. He should have let Tachyon give him something for that, some kind of forgetfulness drug so he wouldn’t keep stumbling over her in his mind, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Because then she really would be gone.
He splashed water on his face and paused in the act of blotting it with a towel, staring at himself in the mirror. For half a second, he had seen another face covered with water; young, female, wide green eyes, dark reddish hair, very pretty, a stranger to him, calling for help. Not calling to him, specifically, but calling without a hope in hell of answer. Praying. Then the face was gone and he was alone with his reflection.
He pressed his face into the towel. One of a soft, luxurious set that Michelle had bought. When she’d brought them home, they had rubbed them all over each other and made love.
Kundalini. Feel the power.
(Lenore. Erika. Eileen. All lost to him.)
He went out to Michelle.
Jane accepted the steaming cup of green tea from Kim Toy and sipped at it delicately. “Here’s to the second night in a row of no nightmares,” she said with a weak smile. “I hope.”
Kim Toy’s answering smile was less than hearty. The girl should have been a quivering mound of jelly after the dreams the Astronomer had sent her, and that was barely a taste of TIAMAT. Real contact would have driven her permanently mad. But here she was, the fragile little innocent, drinking tea and getting her color back. She was made of sterner stuff than any of them had given her credit for. It was always the innocent ones you had to watch, Kim Toy thought wryly. Their strength was as the strength of ten because their hearts were pure and their sincerity made them lethal. She wondered if twisted-up old pervos like the Astronomer had any inkling or whether he was so far removed from anything even remotely resembling innocence that he couldn’t even conceive of such a thing. When she thought about the way the Astronomer recharged his power, yeah, she could allow that was entirely possible. What would a sick old fuck like that know about innocence?
And he was going to own the world. Sure.
But she did believe that. She was unshakable on that. Had been unshakable on that. No, still was. Wasn’t she? And who was she calling a sick old fuck, anyway? What was it when you scrambled a man’s brains to make him fall in love with you, and then, when he’d served his purpose, you turned it up from scramble to liquify, and the same people who dumped the bodies for the Astronomer dumped that one too. She looked at Jane. It was no wonder she preferred the company of women if she couldn’t be with Red.
Jane reached over and pressed the On button of the remote control. The TV screen flickered to life. “I watched Peregrine’s Perch last night and I didn’t have the dreams,” she said, a bit sheepishly. “Now it’s made me superstitious. I feel like I have to watch it to keep the nightmares away. Even if it’s a re-run.”
Kim Toy nodded. “You and about a billion other people.”
“Sal adored talk shows. Especially Peregrine’s Perch. He said he watched because he was dying to see how they’d work around those wings each night.” She paused as a commercial gave way to the stunning features of Peregrine herself. “Sal said they never disappointed him.”
“Who?”
“Her wardrobe department.”
“Oh.” Kim Toy fell silent and dutifully watched the program with the girl. Half an hour into the show, a picture of a handsome red-haired man with russet eyes and a lean, sculpted face appeared on the screen, causing Jane to leap out of her chair.
“There he is!” She knelt down close to the TV. “Jumpin’ Jack Flash. I followed all the news stories about him. He’s one of my heroes.”
Kim Toy turned up the sound. The man’s face vanished and was replaced by the talk-show set where Peregrine was interviewing an expensively dressed woman holding an even more-expensive-looking camera.
“I think you’ve captured the spirit of Jumpin’ Jack Flash exactly,” Peregrine was saying. “That couldn’t have been easy.”
“Well, it was all the more difficult because it was a candid shot,” the other woman said. “Believe it or not, I was just lucky, being in the right place at the right time. J.J. didn’t know I was taking that picture, although he later gave permission for its use.”
“J.J.?” said Peregrine.
The photographer looked down demurely. “That’s what his intimates call him.”
“I’ll bet,” Kim Toy muttered.
“What?” said Jane.
“His ‘intimates.’ Gimme a break. He probably tells all the women he sleeps with to call him J.J., just so he can keep track. It’s easier than remembering their names, and far less trouble than notching their ears, or having them all rounded up and branded.”
Jane looked a little hurt. One of her heroes, right. Kim Toy shook her head. At her age, the girl was overdue to learn that certain heroes had—well, not dicks of clay, but certainly hyperactive ones.
Like your heroes, madam? Like the Astronomer, maybe?
Kim Toy shoved the thought away and forced herself to concentrate on the interview. The photographer apparently speci
alized in photographing aces. More pictures flashed on the screen; to Jane’s delight, Jumpin’ Jack Flash reappeared several times in between shots of Modular Man, Dr. Tachyon, the shell of the Great and Powerful Turtle, Starshine, and Peregrine herself.
“Too bad she can’t take your picture,” Kim Toy said as the segment ended and the show went to another commercial.
Jane shrugged. “I’m a joker.”
“You’re starting to get on my nerves.”
“But the joke’s on me. One of the two people who meant the most to me drowned; the other bled to death.” She turned away from the TV. “Yeah, the joke’s definitely on me and it isn’t a bit funny.”
Kim Toy was about to answer when something shimmered in the air to the right of the TV set. Both women were very still as the image of the Astronomer congealed out of the shadows. “Kim Toy. Jane. I wish to see you.”
There was no need to answer. Kim Toy remained at a sort of attention, hoping her annoyance didn’t show. Cheap theatrics for Jane’s benefit. The Astronomer must have thought she was one hell of a hot ticket to go this far to impress her. He could have conserved his energy and sent Red to fetch them.
Dr. Tachyon still looked his stylish best, even on the downside of midnight. “I knew he had some aces up there. But the machine you describe from the dreams—well, it does exist and it’s very old by your standards.” His eyes narrowed as he studied Fortunato’s swollen forehead. “Rather unusual for you to have an out-of-body experience spontaneously, isn’t it?”
Fortunato turned away from Tachyon (goddamn faggot, just what we need, faggots from space) and stared out the window in the direction of the Cloisters. “I just came here to tell you. There’s a hell of a lot of power massing up there. It called me. Power calls to power.”
“Indeed,” murmured Tachyon. Faggots from space. Fortunato would never love him, but he had never seen the tall, exotic Earthman in such an openly emotional state before.