The witching hour - By Anne Rice Page 0,229

do not know that the image of Roemer seated by the fire is not truly there. Or that the woman who appears for an instant on the stairs, scarcely noticed by them, is Geertruid—dead now twenty years. The thing snatches these images from my mind, surely, and then expands them, though how I cannot guess.

I have tried to talk with it. In the street, I pleaded with it to tell me its purpose. Is there any chance that I shall live? What could I do for it that it would cease its evil tricks? And what had Charlotte commanded it to do?

Then when I had seated myself here and ordered my wine, for I am thirsty for it again, and drinking too much of it, I beheld that it did move my pen and make scrawl marks on my paper which say: “Petyr will die.”

This I enclose with the letter, for it is the writing of a spirit. I myself had no hand in it. Perhaps Alexander might lay his hands on the paper and learn from it. For I can learn nothing from the fool thing except that he and I together can make images the like of which would have driven Jesus from the desert, mad.

I know now there is only one means of salvation for me. As soon as I finish this communication and leave it with the agent I shall go to Charlotte and beg her to make the fiend stop. Nothing else will do for it, Stefan. Only Charlotte can save me. And I pray I can reach Maye Faire unharmed.

I shall rent a mount for the trip, and count upon the road at midmorning being well traveled and that Charlotte is awake and in control of the fiend.

But I have one terrible fear, my friend, and that is, that Charlotte knows what this devil does to me, and has commanded it to do so. That Charlotte is the author of the entire diabolical plan.

If you hear nothing more from me—and allow me to remind you that Dutch ships leave here daily for our fair city—follow these instructions.

Write to the witch and tell her of my disappearance. But see to it that your letter does not originate from the Motherhouse; and that no address provided for her reply is given which should enable the fiend to penetrate our walls.

Do not, and I beg you, do not send anyone after me! For he will only meet with a worse fate than mine.

Learn what you can of the progress of this woman from other sources, and remember the child she bears within nine months will surely be mine.

What else can I tell you?

After my death, I shall try to reach you or to reach Alexander if such be possible. But my beloved friend, I fear there is no “after.” That only darkness waits for me, and my time in the light is at an end.

I have no regrets in these final hours. The Talamasca has been my life, and I have spent many years in the defense of the innocent and in the pure seeking of knowledge. I love you, my brothers and sisters. Remember me not for my weakness, for my sins, or for my poor judgment. But that I loved you.

Ah, allow me to tell you what just happened for it was very interesting indeed.

I saw Roemer again, my beloved Roemer, the first director of our order I knew and loved. And Roemer looked so young and fine to me, and I was so glad to see him that I wept, and did not want the image to disappear.

Let me play with this, I thought, for it comes from my mind, does it not? And the fiend does not know what he does. And so I spoke to Roemer. I said, “My dearest Roemer, you do not know how I have missed you, and where have you been, and what have you learned?”

And the stout handsome figure of Roemer comes towards me, and I know now that no one else sees it for they are glancing at me, the muttering madman, but I do not care. Again I say, “Sit down, Roemer, drink with me.” And this, my beloved teacher, sits and leans against the table, and speaks the most foul obscenities to me, ah, you have never heard such language, as he tells me that he would strip off my clothes in this very tavern, and what pleasure he would give me, and how