Raga Six (A Doctor Orient Occult Novel) (42 page)

He shoved the urge aside and leaned his will toward Julian. Through the chaos and emptiness he knew that if his life held any meaning it was for the boy. He had to fight the sensual presence that was crooning him to sleep, not for his own existence but for the possibility of the child pilgrim. The vibration crept back, its presence prowling the edges of the room and its alien odor heavy against his thoughts. He knew that if he opened his consciousness to send to Argyle for help, he’d be vulnerable. He weighed his chances and decided to risk stepping out of the protective square of words. As he went to the telephone, he found that he’d recovered his ability to move freely.
 

Argyle didn’t answer the first few rings.
 

The clerk told Orient that Mr. Simpson had returned to his room but wasn’t answering. Orient persuaded him to keep ringing and after a minute he heard Argyle’s muffled voice. "Yea pronto," he yawned.
 

"This is Owen. Can you get here right away?"
 

"Yeah," Argyle yawned again. "Just taking a nap. Sun Girl back?"
 

Orient paused. "Isn’t she with you?"
 

"She’s with Raga," Argyle mumbled.
 

"I think you should come over quick."
 

"How about if I just get a quick nap until Sun Girl gets there?" Argyle suggested. "I’m beat."
 

"Sun Girl’s not coming back. And if you don’t pull together and fight that sleepiness," Orient said slowly, "you won’t wake up from your nap."
 

Argyle’s voice lost its fuzzy edge. "What the hell do you mean?"
 

"I’ll tell you when you get here." Orient hung up. As he stood there, he felt the air in the room becoming stale. His face flushed hot, then cold. It was almost over. The
AIKN
Square of Protection had been his last formula. Once the presence broke through he’d have no weapon against the consuming vibration.
 

He went back to the square and sat down in the center. As he huddled in the dim influence of its protection he saw the blue lapis ring on his hand. His power. The power of his candidacy for expansion to the second level. It was as useless as a sword to a monkey. It didn’t exist without the understanding of its use. And there was no time left to find out. His entire life had come to the brink of a gaping nothingness and he was helpless against the winds that were tumbling him in. There was no reason to resist except the last, feeble twitch of his instincts.
 

He tried to fix the flickering spasms of his mind on the dull blue stone. When the doorbell rang, he found it difficult to get up. The presence was circling slowly around the base of his brain.
 

Argyle’s face was drawn and his large eyes were lusterless. "What did you mean about Sun Girl not coming back?" he demanded as Orient closed the door behind him.
 

Orient tried to focus his eyes as his brain shrunk away from the singing vibration of the presence. "If she’s with Raga, she won’t come back," he said wearily. "Do you still feel sleepy?"
 

Argyle nodded. "I’ve been dizzy since you called. Can’t seem to breathe." Orient walked to the square of protective words on the carpet. "Are you strong enough to link?"
 

"Think so."
 

"If we can hold off the dizziness by combining energy, we may be able to gain some time."
 

Argyle recognized the urgency in Orient’s quiet voice and suppressed his questions. He sat down across from Orient, on the other side of the strange letters scrawled on the carpet.
 

Orient used his dwindling reserve of will to relax his fear-knotted brain and concentrated on the breathing pattern. He drew his concentration inward and as he tentatively flexed and opened his mind, he felt the familiar orbit of Argyle’s consciousness drawing closer. He waited until the gravity of their thought was generating a sure, beveled rotation before opening his eyes.
 

His lungs were free and his muscles relaxed. It was easy to move again. The presence was nearby but their combined wills seemed to be able to withstand its velvet pressure. He looked at Argyle and saw that his eyes had recovered some of their animation.
 

"Can you tell me what this is about Sun Girl and Raga?" Argyle asked softly.
 

Orient began to talk. There was nothing left for him to hold back. Nothing for him to protect except illusion. He told Argyle everything: the bag he had delivered to Pola, Janice’s death, Pia, Presto’s death, Raga, Francesca, the night he killed Alistar Six—everything. The confusion and guilt spilled out of him and, by the time he described Raga’s photograph, his emotions were wrung dry and arid. The only details he omitted were his days with Ahmehmet.
 

"Are you sure about the photograph?" Argyle’s mind was still linked to Orient’s and he knew his friend was telling him the truth, but he still found it hard to accept the reality of it. "Do you have a print here?"
 

Orient looked around. "I don’t think so. I must have dropped it somewhere. But it was Raga. For some reason she didn’t register on the original photograph."
 

Argyle snorted. "She’s got Sun Girl and Julian and now she’s working on us. All this time I thought she was frail and gentle."
 

"Probably both Raga and Pia are combining forces," Orient said tonelessly. "I should have seen it before."
 

"Can’t figure it yet," Argyle said softly, remembering how lovely and serene she had seemed, how right for Orient. He shook his head. "Anything we can do?"
 

Orient looked at his hands. "Nothing. Not unless I can find out what force she’s using."
 

"So we’re just sitting ducks?"
 

Orient didn’t say anything. He could feel the listless mustiness stealing over his senses. He knew that he couldn’t survive another attack and he had lost his desire to stay alive. The meaning he’d found with Raga had been seared out of his soul. "Doc," Argyle warned. "It’s getting hard to breathe again. There must be some way to hold it off." Orient’s reply was interrupted by a weak tug at the base of his thoughts. A dim picture of a girl sleeping. The picture faded but the impression remained, a feathery glow in his brain.
 

"That was Julian," Argyle said.
 

"Can you still feel him?" Orient nodded.
 

Argyle nodded.
 

"Fix on it."
 

The two men opened their linked consciousness to receive the barely pulsing impression from Julian’s mind. Orient waited until he was sure of his connection to the pulse, then got to his feet.
 

Argyle opened his eyes. "Where are you going?"
 

"I’m going to try and follow Julian’s emanations. Maybe I can get to him." Argyle stood up unsteadily. "Don’t forget your other head."
 

"It could be fatal to go after him."
 

"It won’t be any better here than anywhere else. May as well go out on our feet." Argyle smiled. "If Julian broke through, maybe Sun Girl got him out of danger."
 

Orient nodded. "Could be," he said. But he felt the weight of his legs increasing as they walked to the door and knew that Julian’s call was a lure.
 

The night was clear and a curve of moon shone hard against the sky. Argyle and Orient walked slowly, silently concentrating on the link of energy between them that was flowing toward Julian. The oppressiveness clogged their lungs and throats as they plodded through the crowded, display-lit streets. They tried to veer off into the alleys but the wavering pulse led them back to the busy thoroughfares. As they crossed the street toward the Spanish Steps, the distant notes of Julian’s pulse rose in Orient’s mind like a high-pitched curve of melody. They followed the echoes up the huge stone stairway. Their heavy breathing sounded loud on the shadowy, deserted stairs as they negotiated slowly against the exertion. The chorus in Orient’s thought came clearer as they neared the top of the steps.
 

He turned and looked at Argyle. "It’s stronger," Argyle said. His face was covered with sweat from the climb.
 

As he spoke, the pleasant drowsiness disintegrated Orient’s reflexes. He started to lean against the stone wall and say something but Argyle was already at the top of the stairs and moving down the street. Orient followed him, lurching against the exhaustion.
 

The street above the Spanish Steps was silent and empty. A few yards away there was a tall iron gate with a pebbled path behind it that ran down to the columned entrance to a house. Argyle walked past the gate, then came back and stood next to it, waiting for Orient to catch up. "This is it," he said as Orient approached.
 

Orient felt for the pulse in his brain. There was nothing except the luscious drowsiness. His hold on their link was gone. They were too late.
 

"It’s locked." Argyle’s words were thick as if they were made of fabric. They stuffed his mouth, gagging off his breath. He closed his eyes.
 

Orient sagged against the iron gate.
 

There was a sharp electric buzz and the gate opened. Orient grabbed for the bars, missed, and fell down on the gravel. The shock of the fall was muffled by the undulating vibration winding through his senses. Orient took Argyle’s hand and clumsily pulled himself to his feet.
 

"How nice that you’re finally here," Pia called out.
 

Orient looked up and saw her framed in the doorway at the end of the path. The light behind her yellow hair set up a halo of reflections around her silhouette.
 

He began walking down the inclined path toward the door, his arms hanging limp at his sides as the paralyzing pleasure curled around his brain and fed at his will.
 

Pia stepped aside as they reached the door.
 

"How nice to see you again, Owen," she smiled, as she locked the door. "And you’ve brought a friend." Pia looked at Argyle appraisingly. "He’s very handsome," she purred conversationally. "I think I’ll devote all my attention to him tonight."
 

"Where’s…Julian?" Argyle rasped. He stood swaying in front of her, his face twisted with anger.
 

"All in due time," Pia said lightly.
 

"Now!" Argyle’s voice became a cough.
 

"Don’t waste your energy," Pia snapped. Her chiseled features hardened momentarily, then went soft. "You’re in no position to be rude, Argyle."
 

Orient watched Argyle’s fist clench, go rigid, then open slowly, and he knew his friend had no strength left in his arm to lift the fist. He tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat and he began to cough.
 

"You look tired, Owen," Pia said with concern. "Come inside and rest." She gazed at him fondly for a moment, then padded ahead of him on her bare feet.
 

Orient’s will crumbled as the crooning vibration rose in his brain. He walked slowly down the corridor, his shoulder sagging against the wall. All his perceptions were hazed by the soothing pleasure smoldering at the ends of his nerves. He stumbled forward into the room at the end of the hall and stopped.
 

The room was large and windowless. It was lit by two foot-high candles spaced apart in the center of the floor. Raga sat in between the candles, reclining on a long green silk pillow that matched her gown. Sun Girl was lying on the pillow, covered by a green cloth, her head resting on Raga’s lap.
 

Even through the roaring tumult in his brain, his exhaustion, and the dim flickering fight, Orient could see the smoothness of Raga’s pale skin. Her silver hair reflected the movements of the candle flames and her eyes flashed with yellow points of light.
 

"Hello, Owen darling." Her husky voice penetrated the reeling confusion of his thoughts and held his attention.
 

He felt Argyle jostle past him trying to get to Sun Girl. He watched him strain to move against the pressure, one arm outstretched. Then he saw the arm drop and Argyle stand limp and trembling, unable to reach her.
 

Raga shook her head with condescending pity. "It’s useless, Argyle," she whispered. "I let you come here only because I wanted you to see how senseless it is to defy my power." She looked at Orient. "I enjoyed our little games, Owen. You’re surprisingly adept. But no one can stop what must occur tonight."
 

"Let—the boy free." Orient managed to squeeze the plea through his sandy throat.
 

Raga laughed as if she were delighted by some clever remark he’d made. "But that’s the whole point, darling. Julian is the reason we’re all here."
 

"Damned bitch," Argyle groaned.
 

Raga’s eyes narrowed. "You don’t understand, Argyle." Her voice was honeyed and warm. "Julian is going to live forever. With me."

CHAPTER 26

Pia floated into the wavering line of Orient’s vision. She moved lightly on her toes, her wispy green gown trailing after her. When she reached the pillow she knelt close to Raga. "Is it time?" she asked.
 

"Soon." Raga began stroking Sun Girl’s hair. "I can feel it rising."
 

Orient’s vision began to wither as the luxurious vibration wound around his spine, throttling off every function of his body. The room swerved and he sagged very slowly to the floor, as if he were being supported by invisible strings. He felt the soft rug against his face. He lifted his head and opened his eyes.
 

The sensual pressure was toying with his consciousness—becoming full and heavy—cutting off his breath—then easing back to allow a few quick gasps of stale air; easing away, then returning to feed at the remaining ebbs of his vitality—nibbling at his energy as he spoke...