The witching hour - By Anne Rice Page 0,194

at once; please come to us over land or sea, as quickly as possible.

But please be assured of our love and high regard for you, of our concern. We are of the opinion that if you disobey only misery awaits you in the West Indies if not worse. We judge this as much from your own words, and confessions, as from our premonitions regarding the matter. We have laid hands on the letters. We see darkness and disaster ahead.

Alexander, who as you know has the greatest power to see through touch of any among us, is most adamant that if you go on to Port-au-Prince, we will never see you again. He has taken to his bed over this, and lies there, refusing food and speaking only in strange sentences when he does choose to speak.

I should tell you further that Alexander went into the hall at the foot of the stair and laid hands upon the portrait by Rembrandt of Deborah, and withdrew near to fainting, and refusing to speak, and was helped by the servants to his room.

“To what purpose is this silence?” I demanded of him. To which he responded, that what he saw made plain that it was futile to speak. I went into a rage at this and demanded that he tell me. “I saw only death and ruin,” he said. “There were no figures or numbers or words in it. What do you want of me?” And then he went on to say that if I would know how it was, look again to the portrait, to the darkness from which Rembrandt’s subjects are forever emerging, and see how the light strikes the face of Deborah only partially, for that was the only light he could divine in the history of these women, a partial and fragile light, forever swallowed by darkness. Rembrandt van Rijn caught but a moment, no more.

“One can say that of any life and any history,” I persisted.

“No, it is prophetic,” he announced. “And if Petyr goes on to the West Indies he will vanish into the darkness from which Deborah Mayfair emerged only for a little while.”

Make of that lovely exchange what you will! I cannot withhold from you that Alexander said further that you would go to the West Indies, that you would ignore our orders and you would ignore the pronouncement of excommunication, and that the darkness would descend.

You may defy this prediction, and if you do indeed defy it, you will work wonders for the health of Alexander, who is wasting away. Come home, Petyr!!!!

Surely you are aware, as a sensible man, that in the West Indies you need not meet with daimons or witches to endanger your life. Fever, pestilence, rebellious slaves, and the beasts of the jungle await you there, after all the perils of the sea voyage.

But let us leave the matter of common injunctions against such travel, and the matter of our private powers, and look at the documents which you have laid before us.

An interesting tale indeed. We have long known that “witchcraft” is a great concoction of judges, priests, philosophers, and so-called learned men. That by means of the printing press they have disseminated this fantasy throughout Europe, and into the Highlands of Scotland, and perhaps into the New World.

We have long known as well that the peasant populations of the rural districts now see their cunning women and midwives as witches, and the bits and pieces of custom and superstition once held in high regard by them have now been woven into fantasies of goat-footed devils, sacrilege, and preposterous Sabbats.

But where have we ever perceived a more exquisite example of how the fantasies of these men have created a witch than in the simpleton Suzanne Mayfair, who taking guidance directly from the demonologies has done what one in a million women could do—conjured up for herself a true spirit, and one of redoubtable power, a fiend which was passed on to her clever and embittered daughter, Deborah, who has gone further into the practice of Black Magic to perfect her hold over this being and now has passed him on, along with her superstitions no doubt, to her daughter in the New World.

Who among us does not wish that he or she had stood with you at Montcleve to see the great power of this spirit, and the ruin of the lady’s enemies, and surely had there been one of us at your side, that one would have stayed