Evil Thirst (The Last Vampire #5)(14)
Author: Christopher Pike

She climbs into her car and drives away. I am out the door in a flash. I run into Seymour on his way back with a sandwich for me. One look at my face and he is a mass of nerves. I raise my hand.

"I want you to stay here," I say. "I'm going into her condo, and you'll just get in my way."

"But you'll need a lookout," he protests.

"No."

"But I can't stay behind and let you take all the risks."

I decide not to be too quick to crush his brave initiative. Also, I am not in the mood to argue.

"All right," I say. "But if she rips your head off don't blame me."

He throws the sandwich in the garbage and we grab an elevator.

This time, at the condo tower, I have to speak to the receptionist, but I purposely keep the conversa­tion short and silent. Catching her eye through the glass,I press her with my fiery will and mouth the words: "Open the door."

A moment later the door swings open.

Suite1821 is naturally on the eighteenth floor. I do not want to break the lock because I still hope Kalika will know nothing of my visit. With a couple of pins I have broughtfor just this purpose, I quickly pick the lock.The door creaks open. Seymour stands behind me, the color of a hospital bed sheet.

"It's more fun to write about this stuff than do it," he says.

"Shh,"I say as we step inside and close the door. "Stand on the front balcony and keep a lookout for her white Mercedes."

"What are you going to do?"

"Look for evidence of her state of mind."

Kalika owns,or rents, a two-bedroom corner condo. She has twin balconies and glorious views of the city. The place is elegant, the plush carpeting new, the white paint fresh. Her furnishings are few but tasteful. She seems to prefer traditional to modern,but nothing she has is old-fashioned. There are no magazines in the living room or dining area,yet she has a rather large TV, and I wonder how many channels she subscribes to and what her favorite programs are.

While Seymour stands outside on the balcony, I step into her office, the first bedroom on the right. She has a desk,a computer, a fax machine. Her drawers are unlocked and I rifle through them. Not entirely surprisingly, I find several maps.Most of them areof California,blow-ups of BigSur, Mount Shasta,and Lake Tahoe. She has travelbooks on these areas also. There is also a guidebook on Sedona,which is located inArizona.Inanother drawer are more books on these same places,but these are not typical travel guides.They contain personal accounts ofthe spots.I scanthe books—Ican read over thirty thousand words a minute with total comprehension. Quite a few of the stories describe how powerful the vibrations are in each place. I am fascinated becauseK alika appears to be doing alot of research on spots that have been New Age retreats for the last couple of decades.

"Do you like these places?" I whisper to myself. "Or do you think the child will be drawn to them?"

I move into my daughter's bedroom.Her queen-size bed is neatly made, covered with a hand-made quilt from China. In the corner, on top of a chest of drawers,a white silk cloth has been spread,almost as if a small altar has been set up. There are only a few books and a small Shiva Lingamset beside a brass incense holder in which a stick of musk incense has recently been burned.

Theli ngamis a polished gray phallic-shaped stone with three red marks on it. The shape and the markings are natural to the stone,I know. When I was a child, still a mortal,five thousand years ago, our tiny village had a Shiva Lingam. The rocks are supposed to contain the energy of Lord Shiva himself, Mahakala,who is the spouse of Mother Kali and the supposed destroyer of time at the end of all ages.Geologists describe lingams as the offspring of meteor crashes. In either case, they are highly magnetic. Brushing my hand over the stone, I feel its charge.

Kalika has three books beside the lingam: the Bhagavad-Gita: the Upanishads, the MahanirvanaTantra. The Gita is the gospel according to Krish­na,the Upanishads are collected stories of divine knowledge from ancientri shis, and the Mahanir­vana Tantra describes Kali in her different avatars, and details her various modes of worship and innovation.All this reading material is entirely spiritual in nature. But try as I might, I cannot understand what that means.If I should be relieved or frightened.It is an old and regrettable truth that more people have been killed in the name of God than anything else.

I am picking up her copy of the Gita when Seymour bursts breathlessly into the room."Her car just drove up," he says." She wasn't gone long."

I replace the book in its exact spot. "It will take her a minute to get up here. Come, we have time."

Back out in the hallway, however, standing in front of the elevators,I begin to havedoubts. As Seymour starts to push the down button,I stop him.

"Even in the garage basement," I say, "she might note the elevator going up to the eighteenth 0oor. She is shrewd—she might consider that more than coincidence." I pause. "Let's take the stairs."

"I just want to get out of here," Seymour sayswithemotion.

Halfway down the stairs I stop Seymour. Strain­ing my ears to listen far below, I hear someone climbing up the stairs.The person is in no hurry and itc ould be anybody. But I don't like the fact that this person stands in our path, and that I can't see who it is—each floor is partitioned off. Sey­mour watches me anxiously.

"What is it?"

"Someone's coming up the stairs."

"Is it she?" he gasps.

"I can't tell." I pause. "I think it is a woman. This person has a light step."

"Oh God."

"Shh. She is far below still. Let's grab the ele­vator."

In the elevator, Seymour starts to push the button for the lobby, but I stop him for the second time and push the button for the second garage level. Seymour throws a fit.

"Why did you do that?"he asks.

"It is the last thing she'll expect us to do, if she thinks we know where her car is parked."

"But for all we know she's still in her car."

"Relax,Seymour. I knew what I'm doing."

I hope. When the elevator whooshes open, I am tensed for an attack. But none comes. We appear to be alone in the underground garage. Signaling for Seymour to remain where he is, I step lightly into the garage and stretch my sensitives enses to their limits. There is no sign ofK alika.I signal to Seymour to join me.