The witching hour - By Anne Rice Page 0,509

excited by what she had found out. Her resolves were the same. In fact, she had found the whole experience fascinating.

“Things haven’t changed,” she said. “Sooner or later he’ll come, he’ll wrestle with me for what he wants, and he’ll lose. All we did was get more information about the number and the door, and that’s what we wanted.” Michael didn’t answer her. “But nothing’s changed,” she insisted. “Nothing at all.”

Still Michael didn’t respond.

“Don’t brood on it,” Rowan said sharply. “You can be certain I’ll never bring together any coven of thirteen witches. I have much more important things to do than that. And I didn’t mean to frighten anybody back there. I think I said the wrong thing. I think I used the wrong words.”

“They misunderstand,” said Michael in a half murmur. He was staring at Aaron, who sat impassively watching them both. And she could tell by Michael’s voice that he was extremely upset.

“What do you mean?”

“Nobody has to gather thirteen witches,” said Michael, his blue eyes catching the light of the. passing cars as he looked at her. “That wasn’t the point of the riddle. They misunderstood because they don’t know their own history.”

“What are you talking about?”

She had never seen him so anxious since the day he’d smashed the jars. She knew if she took hold of his wrist, she’d feel his pulse racing again. She hated this. She could see the blood pumping in his face.

“Michael, for Christ’s sake!”

“Rowan, count your ancestors! The thing has waited for thirteen witches, from the time of Suzanne to the present, and you are the thirteenth. Count them. Suzanne, Deborah, and Charlotte; Jeanne Louise, Angélique, and Marie Claudette; followed in Louisiana by Marguerite, Katherine, and Mary Beth. Then come Stella, Antha, Deirdre. And finally you, Rowan! The thirteenth is simply the strongest, Rowan, the one who can be the doorway for this thing to come through. You are the doorway, Rowan. That is why there were twelve crypts, and not thirteen, in the tomb. The thirteenth is the doorway.”

“All right,” she said, straining for patience. She put up her hands in a gentle plea. “And we knew this before, didn’t we? And so the devil predicted it. The devil sees far, as he said to you, he sees the thirteen. But the devil doesn’t see everything. He doesn’t see who I am.”

“No, those weren’t his words,” said Michael. “He said that he sees to the finish! And he also said that I couldn’t stop you, and I couldn’t stop him. His said his patience was like the patience of the Almighty.”

“Michael,” Aaron interrupted. “This being has no obligation to speak the truth to you! Don’t fall into this trap. It plays with words. It’s a liar.”

“I know, Aaron. The devil lies. I know! I heard it from the time I was that high. But God, what is he waiting for? Why are we being allowed to go along day after day, while he bides his time? It’s driving me crazy.”

Rowan reached for his wrist, but as soon as he realized she was feeling his pulse he pulled away. “When I need a doctor, I’ll tell you, OK?”

She was stung, and drew back, turning away from him. She was angry with herself that she couldn’t be patient. She hated it that he was this upset. And she hated herself for being anguished and afraid.

It crossed her mind that every time he responded in this way, he played into the hands of the unseen forces that were striving to control them, that maybe they had picked him for their games because he was so easily controlled. But it would be awful to say such a thing to him. It would insult him and hurt him and she couldn’t stand to see him hurt. She couldn’t stand to see him weakened.

She sat defeated, looking down at her hands resting limp in her lap. And the spirit had said, “I shall be flesh when you are dead.” She could all but hear Michael’s heart pounding. Even though his head was turned away from her, she knew he was feeling dizzy, even sick. When you are dead. Her sixth sense had told her he was sound, strong, as vigorous as a man half his age, but there it was again, the unmistakable symptoms of enormous stress, playing havoc with him.

God, how awful it had turned out, the whole experience. How terribly the secrets of the past had poisoned the whole affair. Not what she