Witch Water (39 page)

Procuring the bones of corpses hundreds of
more years old, or even a thousand, seemed quite feasible. There
was no limit to the sights he could behold.

And who knew? He might even bring the Bridle
with him…

««—»»

In the wee hours, Fanshawe went to the
baby’s two-thousand-square-foot suite and told the guard and night
nannies to take a short break. Much gold, chalcedony, and jasper
decorated the suite, along with fineries that would stagger the
most indulgent sultan. Above, great skylights of nearly
indestructible Lexan commanded the beauty and sheer vastness of the
universe. This is what Fanshawe wanted his son to see whenever he
might awaken at night.

His footsteps made no sound as he walked the
black-carpeted straightaway toward his son’s bassinet. He’d had the
bassinet custom-crafted by some of the best sculptors in the
country. It was a fabulous, shining basin carved of unflawed onyx:
the color of the abyss, of Lucifer’s smile, and of the hearts of
the faithful. Ribbons of labyrinthine carvings weaved about its
outer surface, recalling not only the inscriptions of the Bridle,
but the most paramount ancient blessings of evil, unholy formulae,
and every variation of the Benefactor’s name in every language
known.

Fanshawe’s lower lip quivered when he peered
down at his sleeping scion.

“The world is full of secrets, son,” he
uttered, “and for some people, those secrets are power. What you’ll
learn soon enough is that faith and a willingness to understand is
the key to
unlocking
those secrets.”

Overhead the stars seemed to shift in the
skylights. Fanshawe listened with great intent to the silence.

Through his mind, Letitia Rhodes’ words
seemed to slither:
I have a feeling that the Two Secrets have to
do with Evanore’s witch-water and the Gazing Ball too…

Ms. Rhodes’ “feeling” was on the mark.

As Fanshawe gazed in wonderment at his
slumbering son, his heart had never felt blacker, nor more
splendorous. Wraxall had indeed shared the Two Secrets with him
during their unfathomable meeting. “Ye first secret be as thus: if
one black of heart shalt gulp blood of his own child, and if he
shalt disentomb ye corpse of a witch’s babe died untimely, and
shouldst he then burn that heart to ash and let those ashes be put
in ye Bridle, then, ye necromancer shalt be enabled to project
himself into
time yet to come,
and if he remains sharp in
his wits, then riches wilt pour down. Yea, but all is naught unless
thee empower ye Second Secret, which I sayeth: thou wilt sire a
second babe
in the guise of love that be instead truly
hatred and lust, and thou wilt serveth ye Lord of Deceits with thy
whole heart, then I shalt be among thee again, for mine spirit
shalt be
dressed anew
in flesh of thy babe…”

Hence, the payment that Fanshawe owed, which
was…

No big deal,
he mused.

Of course, Fanshawe had named the child
Jacob Wraxall Fanshawe. Abbie had raised quite an objection, but
when Fanshawe dropped a sack of coke in her lap, those objections
had ceased without another word.

He smiled at the tiny form swaddled in
raven-black linen. It slept in a state of peace that could only be
called consummate.

“Goodnight, son,” Fanshawe whispered,
turned, and left.

—
| — | —

AUTHOR BIO: Edward Lee is the author of
almost fifty novels and numerous short stories and novellas (or is
it novellae? Hmm.) Several of his properties have been optioned for
film, while HEADER was released on DVD in 2009; also, he has been
published in Germany, England, Romania, Greece, and Austria. Recent
releases include
Bullet Through Your Face
and
Brain
Cheese Buffet
(story collections),
Header 2,
and the
hardcore Lovecraftian books
The Innswich Horror,
Trolley
No. 1852,
Pages Torn From A Travel Journal, Going
Monstering,
and
Haunter of the Threshold.
One of Lee’s
creative ambitions is to one-day write an effective M.R. James
pastiche.