Raga Six (A Doctor Orient Occult Novel) (10 page)

 
"But I want to see Gregory again," Orient confided. "Can I have his number?"
 

Kali didn’t turn around, but merely raised her voice slightly. "Slavie," she said, "bring me a card."
 

Instantly one of the girls sitting in the front room rose and came to Kali’s side, holding a pale blue calling card.
 

Kali handed the card to Orient. "Don’t let this number get around; I’ll see you at the next meeting." She smiled and her tongue flicked over her lips. "Then you can try out my waterbed."
 

"I’ll be looking forward to it," Orient said. He wanted to tell her much more but he knew she wouldn’t understand. When he stepped out onto the sidewalk, he saw that the limousines had departed and the street was empty and quiet.
 

He walked slowly, letting the night air cool the feverish tenseness stretched tight across his brain. Kali and her friends were using forces that were extremely powerful. Gregory and Isis were calling up Astaroth’s energy with blood sacrifice. Tonight it had been a dove, but Orient knew that it was only a matter of a few phases before they attempted a human sacrifice. Astaroth would demand a higher and higher price for his services. And Gregory was in no position to deny him. The boy was making a serious miscalculation. Gregory and Isis didn’t control Astaroth’s power; it controlled them. They were completely possessed by its influence. Orient also knew that if the celebrations continued, the sanity and life of innocent people would eventually be destroyed. He took a deep breath and tried to push away the doubts jabbing at his thoughts.
 

His first impulse was to try to help Gregory and Isis. To free them. But it was held back by the dancing, taunting fears. He wasn’t sufficiently prepared. Control would have to be perfect, and he didn’t know if he was up to it.
 

And then there was something else, perhaps even more important than his ability to do anything for them. Gregory and Isis, he reminded himself, had no desire to be freed from Astaroth’s exhilarating embrace.

CHAPTER 6

Keeping tabs on all the telephoned bets that came into Joker’s apartment wasn’t taxing, but it demanded attention. And Orient’s mind was still wrestling with what he had seen the night before, at Gregory’s meeting. He tried to concentrate on his work, but it was impossible. He took the phone off
 
the hook, lay back on the bed, and stared at the ceiling.
 

Sun Girl didn’t know how perceptive she had been. Kali’s friends were riding an express to madness. They were so carried away by their ability to conjure power that they’d forgotten to protect themselves. The possession of Gregory and Isis could have happened any number of ways; by forgetting to say the proper prayers for the binding of the spirit, or neglecting to make the Circle of Protection perfectly. Many amateurs fell into the same pitfalls. Anyone calling up occult energy had to be certain that every safety measure was covered. The forfeit was injury, madness, and sometimes death. Gregory and his wife hadn’t taken the correct measures, and they’d been entered by Astaroth. And if the celebrations continued, everyone who participated would be prey to the virulent disease of their rites.
 

Of course there was another possibility. One that sent sharp darts of anxiety through his thoughts. Gregory and Isis hadn’t taken any precautions because they wanted to become possessed. Because something in their personality had made them decide to worship evil for its own sake.
 

A chill crept across the back of his neck as he remembered the sacrificed dove. And the cell of impressionable Slavies.
 

He sat up, found the card Karl had given him, and put his finger on the receiver button while he dialed Gregory’s number.
 

"Hello."
 

Orient thought he recognized the voice at the other end. "Kali?"
 

"Yes. Who is it?" Kali’s voice rose slightly with anticipation.
 

"Owen."
 

The voice dropped flat. "Oh, hi. What is it?"
 

"I’d like to make an appointment with Gregory. For a private consultation."

 
"I think Gregory’s all booked up," she said quickly. Too quickly, Orient thought.
 

"Tomorrow?"
 

"Sorry. He’s booked through this week. And he won’t be available again for a few months."
 

"How much is his regular fee?"
 

"Expensive. A hundred dollars."

 
"I’ll give him five hundred."
 

Orient didn’t even have the regular fee, but he didn’t believe he’d be called upon to produce a cent. Something about Kali’s manner made him sure that Gregory wouldn’t be available to him at any price.
     

He was right.
 

"Sorry, Owen. Gregory’s been booked in advance."
 

Orient pushed it. "Okay. I’ll see you at the next meeting in that case."
 

"I don’t think so, Owen." Kali’s voice was brittle and remote. "Gregory’s decided not to hold any more open meetings."

 
"But I’m really interested in the Circle. Can I speak to him?" Orient persisted.

 
"I’m sorry. Not right now. Why don’t you call mc in a few weeks. I have to go back to my chores now." She hung up.
 

Orient replaced the receiver slowly. Kali had obviously scratched him from her waterbed list. And it wasn’t difficult to figure out why. Gregory had become suspicious when he mentioned Honorius. So he had told Kali to turn him off. Orient shook his head. He had tipped his hand. Now it would be impossible to get to Gregory. And every passing day would increase the chances of someone else in the Circle being possessed by Astaroth. He stood up and began to pace the floor.
 

He had to find some way of being alone with Gregory and Isis.
 

He sighed aloud as he realized that was only the first jump. Then he would have to convince them to let him help them. And there was no way that would work. He would have to surprise them somehow.
 

 
A plan began to form. He pushed it aside as impractical, and then came back to it again. But he couldn’t carry if off alone. Then he remembered Sybelle, and the ragged edges of the idea fell into place. If she agreed, there was a chance. He decided to call her.
 

This time the voice at the other end was vibrant and rich. "Speak," it commanded in a dramatic mezzo-soprano.
 

Orient snorted. "Same old Sybelle," he said. "Still intimidating the customers."
 

"Owen," Sybelle gushed enthusiastically, "you’re back! You’re safe! I thought something had happened. I almost held a séance for you. Where are you?"
 

"I’m in the city. Sorry I haven’t called sooner, but I’ve been involved in some research. Can I see you right away?"
 

"How about later this evening?"
 

"How about now?"
 

Sybelle’s resonant voice lowered. "Why the hurry?"

 
"It’s rather pressing," Orient said, "and difficult to explain on the phone."
 

"Well, of course, then. Come up. I’ll be waiting." Orient felt better when he hung up. With Sybelle’s help his plan had a decent chance of success. But he had to do some shopping before he went to see her. He wrote a note for Sun Girl and Joker, then carefully made a list of the items he needed.

 
Everything had to be right. He wouldn’t get another try. When he’d completed the list, he left the house, found a cab, and convinced the driver to wait for him while he made a few stops. The first place he went to was a pharmaceutical wholesale outlet in the Wall Street district. Orient had done business with the firm before, so he was able to obtain what he needed without producing extensive credentials. After that he went to an herb pharmacy in the Bowery. When his purchases were completed, he stopped at a nearby church for a few moments before finally giving the driver Sybelle’s address.
 

As the cab crawled up First Avenue toward 60th Street, Orient considered the details of his plan. It wasn’t foolproof. It could go wrong at any point. If Gregory and Isis refused to see Sybelle privately, he’d be unable to do anything. He had chosen Sybelle for two reasons. She was a professional medium who would understand the situation. She didn’t have telepathic ability, but she did have a strong clairvoyant psychic talent which she controlled effectively. Orient didn’t always agree with the headstrong woman, but he knew she could be depended upon in a crisis. And Sybelle had a room in her apartment that was perfect for what he had in mind today.
 

Sybelle lived on the ground floor of a three-story brownstone off Second Avenue. When she answered the bell she started talking even before she had fully opened the door. "Owen. It’s been eons! I knew you were going to contact me. I felt it this week. Nobody knew where you were. Everyone was positively mystified. Come in—come in, why don’t you," she admonished, blocking the entrance with her wide body.
 

Sybelle’s figure had once been described as a "classic Reubens; the delicatessen, not the painter," but today, with a ruffled pink pant suit coveting her ample curves, she looked more like a watermelon that had grown inside out. Her hair was a frizzy hennaed halo around her florid face, and her eyes were tiny
 

dots, like pits, peeping out through the mounds of flesh that formed when she smiled. And she was beaming.
 

"Come in, for heaven’s sakes," she repeated, finally stepping back to give Orient room. "Where have you been, anyway?" She stood up on tiptoes, closed her eyes, and puckered her bright red lips. Orient gave her a loud kiss.
 

"I’m glad to see you haven’t changed," he said. "Still lusty."
 

Sybelle waddled ahead of Orient on her gold, high-heeled slippers. "Fat as ever, you mean. Some of my so-called friends are calling me the obese oracle behind my back. Do you want a drink? Or are you still on that monk’s regime of yours?" She waved her plump, jeweled fingers at him. "Sit down, sit down, and tell me everything."
 

Orient shook his head helplessly, set down his shopping bag and sat. Sybelle was as dizzy as ever. But underneath the fat and the flamboyance there was a highly gifted woman who used her talents with the shrewd precision of a surgeon.
 

"Tell me now," she demanded as she went behind the red, plush bar, elaborately worked with gilded signs of the Zodiac, and began filling two glasses with ice. "Why did you sell that beautiful house? And where have you been all this time?"
 

"Just working on some research. I guess I’ve been pretty absorbed," Orient murmured apologetically. "But it’s good to see you looking beautiful. How’s the medium business?" Sybelle patted her vivid orange hair and winked. "Business, as you so crudely put my profession, is fabulous. I’d be a rich woman if could be bothered to go on TV, or do magazine articles like some other psychics. But I prefer to keep my readings small and private." She came out from behind the bar holding the two glasses. "Now this is Scotch," she said firmly. "Drink it, it’s good for you."
 

Orient dutifully took the glass and drank. "There," Sybelle prompted encouragingly, "isn’t that better than those insipid juices?"
 

Orient nodded. He knew better than to try to argue with Sybelle, who was a devoted believer in the natural magic of food and drink. Especially booze.
 

"Now then," Sybelle sighed, settling down in a delicate French Provincial chair that looked ready to splinter under her weight, "what’s all the fuss? Why did you want to see me right away?"
 

"Let me ask you something first," Orient said. He told her what he’d seen at the meeting the night before. He described Isis’s strange convulsions and the rite to Astaroth. He didn’t go into his own conclusions, but waited for her reaction.
 

"I don’t like it," Sybelle frowned. She took a gulp of her drink. "It sounds like the sort of thing I don’t like to be associated with."
 

"Why?"
 

Sybelle looked at him. "You know as well as I that calling up psychic power through a blood rite can lead to complications."
 

"That’s why I’d like you to ask them over for a private consultation," Orient said carefully. "I think the complications have already set in."
 

"You think they’re possessed?" Her eye narrowed. "Really?"
 

Orient nodded. "That’s the way it looked to me. I tried to get them to see me earlier, but they froze up. They’re suspicious. That’s why I need your help."
 

"For what?"
 

"I want to try to exorcise them," Orient said slowly.
 

Sybelle was silent. Orient stared at his cracked, wrinkled palms as he waited for her answer.
 

"If they’re suspicious," she mused, "they’re not going to let you do anything to them."
 

"That’s true," Orient replied. He reached down and took a small bottle from the bottom of the shopping bag. He held it up for her to see. It contained a number of tiny white tablets. "One of these in a glass of water is tasteless and works fast. It puts you out for at least fifteen minutes."
 

"And if they don’t want any water?" Sybelle reminded.
 

"I was coming to that." He went into the shopping bag again and pulled out a long metal canister.
 

"This is a container of a gas used by dentists. It’s called laughing gas for some strange reason, although it doesn’t make you laugh." He pointed to the door at the end of the room. "You have a small study in there which, as I recall, has another door."