"Oh, my G.o.d, I see it!" cried the plump blond milord. "It's an infernal woman! Blood drips from her fangs!"

"Monstrous. Oh, monstrous-the horror-" The second milord fell to all fours in the circle and began clawing at his black robe.

"A king-a king in a chariot of flames...hung about with human heads..." whispered Buckingham.

"Appear in comely human form..." La Voisin went on chanting.

"Mother, Mother, the circle-he's broken it, crawling about like that-" Marie-Marguerite's voice was urgent. But La Voisin chanted on, exalted, oblivious.

I thought I could make something out in the shadows. My limbs p.r.i.c.kled and ached. The drug was beginning to wear off. But I was sweating, my head throbbing. I felt violently nauseated. Oh, Lord, get me out of this stuffy room with these lunatics. If only I had my cordial...As the thought crossed my mind, I realized I hadn't had any cordial since last night. Oh, d.a.m.n. All this and sick, too. I lifted a weak hand and felt my face. My head hurt hideously. The occupants of the circle were writhing around on the ground at the feet of the Shadow Queen, who still stood upright, rod in hand.

"Reveal yourself, demon. Enter the body of the woman outside the circle and speak your name."

The smoke had sunk down to the floor level now, where I could breathe it in. Opium smoke, charged with the bitter odors of foul herbs. As I took it in in great breaths, I thought, not enough, d.a.m.n it all. Enough to make everyone else in the room as mad as hatters and not enough to stop this blasted headache.

"...take her, enter her, possess her, rule her. Accept this sacrifice, O Astaroth. Take her mind and soul, give her the power, give her-"

"No!" A great cry came from within the circle. La Voisin looked horrified. She had at last spied the break in the circle. A low, demonic snarl sounded from within the circle. Sylvie, her hair wild, was writhing on the ground. From her lips, a ba.s.s voice growled, "I am here. What is your wish?"

"Take possession of the soul dedicated to you, and leave this circle," commanded La Voisin, taking up the sword to retrace the broken portion.

"I don't want it."

"What do you mean, you don't want it? It was perfectly prepared for you. Demons always want souls." La Voisin was incensed.

Buckingham had regained his composure. He fished underneath his black robe and found his lorgnon. "Marvelous," he said as he inspected Sylvie through it.

"What worthless, slippery rag of a soul do you offer me? A silly, sn.o.bbish girl who doesn't believe in the Devil and keeps account books instead of lovers?" Sylvie's voice was deep and resonant. Unfair, I thought. That's what Sylvie would think. The demon in Sylvie went on: "I'll have this fine figure of a woman here, who knows what to ask for when the Devil woos her: palaces, clothes, lovers, d.a.m.nation! I have taken the real woman, not the cold-blooded lady philosopher who hasn't enough blood and bone for a decent meal."

"I say," interjected Buckingham, "take the demon's advice and quit bothering him. That's quite a woman, heh, heh-" He peered again through his lorgnon. "The demon has good taste." I couldn't believe how offensive I found the milords, as they goggled at the latest novelty they had financed.

"I conjure you in the name of the archfiend, Beelzebuth, leave the circle-"

"The archfiend has left on business for Constantinople," announced Sylvie in her new, deep voice. "It is I who rule Paris. I have taken this woman. Hers is the power. Worship her. I am in her." I had to admire Sylvie's audacity. La Voisin saw what she had done, too. Raging, the Shadow Queen began to cough. Overpowered by the fumes, the milords weakened, and one of them pa.s.sed out. Desperate, La Voisin began to chant the demonic dismissal, but Sylvie stood her ground, snarling like an enraged wolf.

"...I permit thee to retire wheresoever it may seem good to thee, so it be without noise and without leaving any evil smell behind thee..."

"Never!" shouted Sylvie. "I, Astaroth, have chosen!" La Voisin sprinkled something into the burning ma.s.s in the bra.s.s bowl that gave off heavy white smoke. Sylvie, breathing heavily, pa.s.sed into a stupor on the floor, and my own eyes started to stream. The last thing I remembered before I lost consciousness was La Voisin leaning over me, her black eyes raging.

"How dare you, how dare you! Even the demon won't have you, you dreadful...cold-blooded...machine, you! You're not even a snake in my bosom-I've nurtured a d.a.m.ned clockwork!"

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

"It's really very simple," announced Florent as he poured coffee into two cups the next morning. "You have accustomed yourself to opium the way the Italian princes accustom themselves to poison-a drop at a time. They cannot be a.s.sa.s.sinated, and you cannot be possessed. Everyone else was seized with hallucinations, and you simply sat there annoyed with the poor quality of the drug." His eyes were sunken with fatigue. He seemed relieved that I was up and listening.

I sat there huddled in my dressing gown, still nursing a dreadful headache. I had black circles under my eyes and strange bruises all over me, as if I had been bitten by invisible animals. Despite a great deal of washing, I could still smell the reek of Paris mud on me and feel the panic engendered by the rolling clouds of suffocating smoke in the sealed room. Florent had found me in the small hours of the morning, wandering demented in the gutters of Bonne Nouvelle. They say I was howling like a wolf, but I can recall only a pair of strong arms carrying me home and wide hands cutting off my filthy clothes, wrapping me in heavy blankets as convulsions twisted my body. But coffee, coffee mends everything. Morning and sanity had come. I thought about Florent's explanation. It had its points.

"I don't think opium is the whole story, Florent. I think that possession is a matter of the desire to believe. After all, Montaigne says that belief can make the body well or ill. I don't see why one could not add 'possessed' to that list, do you?"

"Hmm. That makes sense, too. But what person would be so silly as to wish to be possessed? I find it hard to discern a motive."

"I don't," I answered, as he poured more coffee.

"Mustapha," he called, "you have made a mistake-you brought only two cups. You must bring a third and drink with us. If you had not fled that house and found me, your mistress might be dead."

"Drinking with servants breeds familiarity," said the little man as he brought the third cup and clambered up onto the empty chair.

"Coffee does not count, Mustapha. Besides, what else would you expect from a man of such questionable social origins as I?" There was something strong and refreshing about Florent. The way he poured the coffee with a flourish, the way he got up to open the window himself and let the cold, fresh air in while I coughed last night's filthy smoke from my lungs.

"So, Mustapha, what has happened to Sylvie?" I asked.

"Gilles found her at Madame's, flung her over his shoulder like a sack of grain, and brought her back still raving. Several buckets of cold water seem to have put the demon to flight, at least temporarily."

"He is in love with her, isn't he?" said Florent. I looked up, astonished. I'd never even suspected.

"Hopelessly," replied the little man. "But she wants that Romani, the poisoner. She told Gilles that she wants to better herself. I am grateful I have been spared the vicissitudes of unrequited love."

"I think perhaps not," said Florent quietly. Then he looked at me and back at the little man with a strange, deep sympathy. "But it is part of the human condition, isn't it?" he went on. "G.o.d spares none of us." I looked at the grounds in the bottom of my coffee cup.

"Pardon," said Mustapha, changing the subject as he put down his coffee, "I think I hear someone at the door."

But there actually was someone at the door. As I heard the noise downstairs, I called, "Show whomever it is up, Mustapha; I am in no condition to come downstairs."

When the cloaked woman was shown into the bedroom, she threw back her hood and took off her mask, looked about her, and said, "My, your upper chambers are nicely furnished, Madame de Morville. I've never seen them before." It was Mademoiselle des Oeillets, Madame de Montespan's lady-in-waiting. "And who is this gentleman?" she asked, spying Florent, who had risen to greet her. "A magician?" Florent gravely nodded a.s.sent.

"I'm sorry I could not receive you downstairs. I was present at a demonic possession last night, and I am still quite exhausted."

"Oh, yes. Those can be tiring. Was it a major or a minor demon?"

"Major. Astaroth. And someone broke the circle."

"Oh, my goodness! I'm surprised you're receiving at all! I'm sure I should have been in bed for a week if I had been there!" Pleasantries exchanged, Mademoiselle des Oeillets drew me behind the screen in my ruelle for privacy and came straight to the point.

"Madame de Montespan needs you to consult the gla.s.s for her-in strictest confidence."

"But I thought Madame de Montespan was at court. I can't travel to Saint-Germain, you know, since...uh, the incident. I can only meet with her in Paris. And I am forbidden to do any readings that might be political."

"Madame arrived in the city last night, and will be returning as soon as her business here is done. She wants you to meet her at her house secretly. No one must know she is consulting you."

"Then it is politics."

"Oh no. It has only to do with love."