Where the Summer Ends - By Karl Edward Wagner Page 0,99
Magnus leaned forward, seeking to impart his enthusiasm. “Don’t you see how important this is? If Elisabeth Beresford was not your ancestress, then there can be no question of genetic memory being involved. The only explanation must therefore be reincarnation—proof of the immortality of the soul. To establish this I must first confirm the existence of Elisabeth Beresford, and from that demonstrate that no familial bond exists between the two of you. We simply must explore this further.”
“Must we? I meant, what progress have we made toward helping me, Dr Magnus? It’s all very good for you to be able to confirm your theories of reincarnation, but that doesn’t do anything for me. If anything, the nightmares have grown more disturbing since we began these sessions.”
“Then perhaps we dare not stop.”
“What do you mean? ” Lisette wondered what he might do if she suddenly bolted from the room.
“I mean that the nightmares will grow worse regardless of whether you decide to terminate our sessions. Your unconscious self is struggling to tell you some significant message from a previous existence. It will continue to do so no matter how stubbornly you will yourself not to listen. My task is to help you listen to this voice, to understand the message it must impart to you—and with this understanding and self-awareness, you will experience inner peace. Without my help... Well, to be perfectly frank, Miss Seyrig, you are in some danger of a complete emotional breakdown.”
Lisette slumped back against the couch. She felt on the edge of panic and wished Danielle were here to support her.
“Why are my memories always nightmares?” Her voice shook, and she spoke slowly to control it.
“But they aren’t always frightening memories, my dear. It’s just that the memory of some extremely traumatic experience often seeks to come to the fore. You would expect some tremendously emotional laden memory to be a potent one.”
“Is Elisabeth Beresford... dead?”
“Assuming she was approximately twenty years of age at the time of Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee, she would have been past one hundred today. Besides, Miss Seyrig, her soul has been born again as your own. It must therefore follow...”
“Dr Magnus. I don’t want to know how Elisabeth Beresford died.”
“Of course,” Dr Magnus told her gently. “Isn’t that quite obvious?”
•VIII•
“For a wonder, it’s forgot to rain tonight.”
“Thank god for small favors,” Lisette commented, thinking July in London had far more to do with monsoons than the romantic city of fogs celebrated in song. “All we need is to get these rained on.”
She and Danielle bounced about on the back seat of the black Austin taxi, as their driver democratically seemed as willing to challenge lorries as pedestrians for right-of-way on the Edgeware Road. Feeling a bit self-conscious, Lisette tugged at the hem of her patent leather trench coat. They had decided to wear brightly embroidered Chinese silk lounging pyjamas that they’d found at one of the vintage clothing shops off the Portobello Road—gauzy enough for stares, but only a demure trouser-leg showing beneath their coats. “We’re going to a masquerade party,” Lisette had felt obliged to explain to the driver. Her concern was needless, as he hadn’t given them a second glance. Either he was used to the current Chinese look in fashion, or else a few seasons of picking up couples at discos and punk rock clubs had inured him to any sort of costume.
The taxi turned into a series of side streets off Maida Vale and eventually made a neat U-turn that seemed almost an automotive pirouette. The frenetic beat of a new wave rock group clattered past the gate of an enclosed courtyard: something Mews— the iron plaque on the brick wall was too rusted to decipher in the dark—but from the lights and noise it must be the right address. A number of expensive-looking cars—Lisette recognized a Rolls or two and at least one Ferrari—were among those crowded against the curb. They squeezed their way past them and made for the source of the revelry, a brick-fronted townhouse of three or more storeys set at the back of the courtyard.
The door was opened by a girl in an abbreviated maid’s costume. She checked their invitation while a similarly clad girl took their coats, and a third invited them to select from an assortment of masks and indicated where they might change. Lisette and Danielle chose sequined domino masks that matched the dangling scarves they wore tied low across their brows.
Danielle withdrew an ebony cigarette holder from her bag