“Still… it is fraud.”
“And as soon as I can find another job that suits me, I’ll be calling the Better Business Bureau. In the meantime…” She shrugged and capped the bottle, wiping her hands on her black jeans. “How was your trip?”
He kissed her on the neck, encircling her with his arms. She smelled of the incense and oils she’d been mixing and measuring all morning. Wormwood, myrrh, and benzoin. “Come to lunch and I’ll tell you all about it. I have permission to steal you away for an hour.”
She pushed him away unexpectedly, arching back to give him a worried look. “Derek…”
“What?”
“I do have to talk to you, but not now. I need more than an hour.”
“Is something wrong?”
“It’s too complicated. I’m coming under suspicion.”
“Suspicion? Of what?”
“People think—they think I’m your woman. Ms. A.”
“They what? That’s ridiculous. Who?”
“I told you, I don’t want to—not right now. Can I see you tonight?”
“Of course. But all you have to do is tell them to fuck off. They shouldn’t be bothering you.”
“That’s easy for you to say. The fact is, people assume she’s out there somewhere, and she must be someone you know. I don’t know if you realize it, but there are a number of lost souls around who’ve become obsessed with these mandalas of yours. They come in every day and hang around asking me questions. At first Norman kicked them out because they hadn’t bought anything since the book; but now they’ve caught on. They buy charcoal or single sticks of incense, so he refuses to bother them. He won’t even let me tell them off. They give me the creeps.”
Derek looked over his shoulder, as if he might see some of them coming down the hall.
“That’s right,” she said. “I’m surprised there weren’t any out there when you came in.”
“You’re talking about a bunch of New Age flakes. What are you afraid of?”
“These aren’t… they aren’t the usual crowd, Derek. You’ve managed to attract an element I’ve never met before.”
“Great,” he said. “I’ll have to use the back door now.”
“It’s not funny. I need my privacy.”
“But it’s insane. Just tell them to leave you alone.”
“I’m getting too much attention. Yesterday there was an Asian man here, asking about you. Fortunately Norman wasn’t around or he might have let on that I knew you. He came in because we had signed copies of The Mandala Rites, then he started asking if you ever came in, where you lived, things like that.”
Derek’s flesh began to crawl. “Who the hell was he?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. He spoke English very well, but with an accent. I don’t know what kind—you know, Pacific Rim. He looked like a businessman, and he wouldn’t let on why he was asking about you.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Neither do I. But I’m warning you, Derek, I’m going to have to pull out of this situation if it gets any more intense. I don’t need this kind of energy in my life right now.”
“Pull out of what situation? The shop?”
She looked him in the eyes. “No. Us.”
“You can’t—you can’t do that because of other people, Lilith. You’re going to let them rule your life, your relationships? I mean, what do I—is it my fault?”
“Maybe. You created this whole scene, Derek. It’s your livelihood, not mine. I can’t let it take me off my path, and mine has nothing to do with your mandalas. Do you understand?”
He felt as if a cold, blunt metal rod had been thrust straight through him. “Yes,” he said. “I understand. Our relationship is based on what you want; it doesn’t have a thing to do with me.”
“You know how I feel about you, Derek.”
“No I don’t! I don’t know a goddamn thing unless you tell me.”
She reared back, unshaken, cool, as if she had expected him to flare up.
“Even if I told you, Derek, you wouldn’t believe me. You don’t believe anything. That’s your policy. The thing that makes me sad sometimes is it’s painfully obvious that deep down you want to believe everything, unquestioningly. You don’t even know which questions to ask—that’s why you accept all the standard explanations of reality. I think once upon a time you must have been pretty gullible.” She laughed after she said this; he had felt his face change, but couldn’t be sure what he’d given away. “You were, weren’t you? But you’ve built a wall—more like a fortress—around everything in you that’s naive or childlike, everything having to do with trust and faith. And now nothing gets through. Nothing I can imagine, anyway. I’ve tried to reach you, wherever you’re hiding, but it would take more strength than I have. More violence, possibly; and I’m not willing to go that far. Something’s going to bring that fortress down someday, and then look out. I hope nobody’s standing near you when it falls.”
“You’re afraid,” he said coldly. “Afraid of a relationship.”
“That’s not what you want,” she said. “I’m sorry, Derek, but it’s not.”
“Do you love me, Lilith?”
“Love you? I can’t even touch you. You push the whole world away.”
“That’s a convenient way for you to see it, while you’re pushing me away.”
“I have to get back to work.”
She slipped past him, down the hall. He stood there shaking, his face aflame. He couldn’t face the shop again, its fool customers ransacking shelves full of fakery. He made his way out the rear into a small parking lot and strode up 15th Street to the orange crags of Corona Heights. Fog was pouring over the ridge, a gray mass smothering the stones, and soon it smothered him as well. Wrapped in fog, the city hidden from sight below, he could almost believe he was alone in the universe. Almost. Lilith was right.
12
Dear Mr. Crowe:
Sorry to bother you but—weird effects from Rites. Lenore having blackouts/trances—very intense. Hope you can give some advice. Don’t know who else to ask about mandalas. Please call collect anytime. (You’re not listed.)
P.S. Had an actual materialization—first ever!
Michael took one last look at the face of the postcard, which he had picked up in Memphis last summer. It was a picture of Graceland. He hoped Derek Crowe wouldn’t think the message itself was a joke. Elvis didn’t seem an appropriate flip side to the mandalas, but it was the only postcard he had been able to find, rooting through drawers while Lenore showered. He had filled it out without telling her, not wanting her to know the extent of his concern, not wanting her to panic or be afraid in any way. He had convinced her to call in sick, and done the same himself, resolving to look after her until he was convinced she was stable. He dropped the card at the mall post office, on his way to Sears to grab a DieHard.
As he drove toward his mother’s house with the battery, he felt alternately stupid and scared. Stupid, because Lenore was apparently fine now; her blackouts, or whatever they were, had not recurred, and they probably had nothing to do with the mandalas anyway. He half suspected that Lenore was simply getting drugs from Tucker and lying about it. Scared, because a moment later he would find himself completely convinced that the mandalas were at work and would return before long—certainly before Derek Crowe could come to their aid. He figured it would take the card three days to get to California. That meant three days minimum before Derek Crowe called. He could hold out that long, but he felt so isolated. Maybe… maybe he should do another rite tonight, try to contact Elias Mooney in the astral or wherever he had gone, and seek the old sage’s assistance. If nothing else, it would make him feel like he was doing something.