Марк Лэйдлоу - The 37th Mandala

“Not that there’s anything in your kitchen worth offering me, but no.” She rose from the couch, walking toward the bedroom which doubled as his office. “Not for earthly fare, anyway. A little of your blood would suit me fine, though. Let’s get to it.”

He followed her somewhat sheepishly, though his skin prickled with anticipation. He shut the door behind him, as if someone in the living room might be watching. He enjoyed the slight claustrophobia that came with reducing his world to this one small cell. He and Lilith, alone. She wore a black one-piece suit, zippered from throat to crotch.

“Speaking of lectures,” she said, her fingers toying with the zipper ring at her neck. “You’re off to where tomorrow?”

“Cinderton, North Carolina.”

“That’s it? That’s your grand tour?”

He shrugged. “I follow the money.”

“You don’t seem too excited.”

He sat down beside her. “I dread having to talk about the mandalas for the rest of my life. In a way, if they’re too successful it will just be a pain in the ass. I want to be anonymous and get on with my next book.”

“And all this time I thought you were just trying to hit the jackpot so you could lie back and do nothing for the rest of your life.”

“Ah… I can’t fool a psychic. But I don’t think this book is going to be the one. That’s why I’ve got to get the next tome started. I might even work on it tonight. Research.”

“Tonight? What’s it called?”

“ The Big Book of Sex Magick , ” he said.

Lilith’s laughter merged with the sound of the zipper. “Oh, really?” she said.

“It’s dedicated to you.”

One candle burned, and that was the only light in the room. It wavered as the flame bent, dipped. Lilith’s hand trembled, and Derek bit his lips, hissing as molten wax scalded his nipple. The plaster wall was cold and clammy against his back and buttocks, arms, and calves. The wax cooled swiftly, but not before the candle darted elsewhere and the next tongue of fire licked his belly. Her hands caressed his inner thighs, her nails traced the cartilege spans that strained from his skin as he flinched and shivered. The handcuffs were cold, and so was the bare floor under his bare feet. The room was drafty and he felt perfectly vulnerable as Lilith whispered the words of some sinister-sounding spell that was probably nothing but a psalm recited in Hebrew. Of course, he didn’t believe in her spells, but that wasn’t the source of the thrilling fear he sometimes felt. The truth was, he didn’t completely trust Lilith. If he had, this game would have held little appeal.

“The demon is with us,” she said. “Arise, demon.”

Her hand cupped his balls. The candle dripped. Derek clenched. Her teeth on his belly, biting sharply, letting go before the cry was even out of his mouth. Her hair brushed his pubes.

“Lilith,” he said, tensing. Her breath on his groin. “Lilith, no.”

She rocked back on her heels, looking up at him, the candle held between her fingers. “You cannot order me about, demon master. For you are in my circle now, and all your familiars are mine to command.” She opened her mouth, making a ring. She set the candle down.

“No, Lilith. No.”

He shut his eyes. He could feel her mouth closing around him.

“Please!” he said, writhing away violently, clenching down so hard that the plaster gave way and one of the hooks tore from the wall. The handcuff flew as he coiled into himself, and the curve of bright metal struck her in the cheek. She tumbled sideways on the floor. His fist, he realized, had also hit her. He hunched against the wall, one hand still pinned high in the air, but no longer angry or frightened enough to rip the second hook free. No longer out of control.

Lilith looked up at him, feeling her jaw. A slash below her eye bled slightly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “God, I’m so sorry.”

She drew her bare knees close to her and started to rise.

“Lilith,” he said, “I warned you…”

“That’s all right,” she said, sullen. “We’ve always skated on the edge of it. I thought I’d take you out on the ice tonight—see how thin it is.”

“Really, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“That’s what happens when you play at pain, Derek.”

“I just… I just…”

“Wait a minute.” She found the key and freed him. He was shivering, so she pushed him toward the bed. “Get in,” she said. She covered him with blankets.

“What about you?”

She looked toward the door. “I’m going to take off.”

“What? Why?” He started to climb out, but she stopped him.

“Derek, it’s nothing. I think you need to be alone.”

“Alone? I’m always alone. What do you mean?”

“Something happened, Derek. We need to process it.”

“What the fuck do you mean? I’m extremely ticklish, that’s what happened.”

She was already in the doorway, gathering her clothes to her, tugging at her zipper.

“It’s more than that,” she said. “Maybe I see it more clearly than you.”

“You and your fucking third eye!” he called. “All right, Lilith, go ahead. I’m sorry I hurt you, but get the fuck out. And stop looking at my aura like that!”

She picked up her raincoat and looked back at him, sadly. “Have a lovely time in North Carolina, dear. Maybe things will be different when you come back.”

The outer door closed a moment later. He knew he had to get out of bed eventually to lock and double-lock it, but he couldn’t make himself move. He kept wondering exactly what had happened, what screwed-up ominous thing Lilith thought it all meant.

Sometimes he thought the little he saw of her was still too much.

She had weird notions; she steeped herself in them. She didn’t mind him laughing at them either. She was tougher than that. Sometimes he thought she was his exact opposite and if they ever truly came together they would explode, like matter and antimatter in bad science fiction. The very idea that one night in North Carolina could somehow change things… now that was even sillier than her demonic invocations.

He sat peeling candle wax from his chest, shaking his head.

My little demon .

“Fucking Lilith,” he said, and laughed.

That night it was so cold that Lenore and Michael Renzler sat at their kitchen table with the oven door open. Lenore picked at a congealing pool of creamed chipped beef. Her plate was cold so the glop had chilled instantly. Michael sat across from her, nothing on his plate but a piece of dry toast. He had taken one bite and otherwise ignored his “meal,” too busy flipping through one of his occult books, making notes on a yellow pad and mumbling to himself. Watching her husband read was the highlight of too many of Lenore’s evenings. He hadn’t said one word to her since they’d sat down together. She was getting more pissed by the second.

“You want any shit on that shingle?” she finally asked.

“I’m fasting,” he said without looking up.

“Fasting?”

“For tomorrow night.”

“You’re fasting for a lecture?”

“Not just for the lecture. I’m planning a ritual too.”

He threw her a smile. Lately his rituals were the only thing he got excited about, but for the last two weeks it had been even worse. Michael was in ecstacies, obsessed; he couldn’t talk about anything else. He kept reading and rereading the same book, making notes in it, trying out pronunciations that sounded like gibberish. Derek Crowe was coming to Cinderton. The mandala man. Michael couldn’t contain himself.

“You’ll be so weak you’ll pass out in the middle of the talk,” she said.

“No, by the second day I’m usually flying—I’ll feel great. Today’s just water and bread, but tomorrow I get bread, milk, and wine. It’s my own version of a black fast.”