Shaman's Blood (10 page)

By the time they’d smoked it all, Tripper had established himself on one of the beds with Linda, which was fine with Ned, as long as Gloria and Mary Catherine didn’t object to a threesome. He stripped off his clothes quickly, unselfconscious and comfortable in his own skin. The girls were less forthcoming, but he’d been there before and did what he needed to do to put them at ease. By the time the sun went down and the room was mostly dark, he had made love to them both and taught Green Eyes how to perform a proper blow job.

He was lying flaked out on his back when his stomach growled in a hideous, long, gurgling complaint. Gloria shrieked with laughter.

“Open that pizza, man,” said Tripper, emerging from under the sheets.

Ned got up obediently and plunked the opened box down on the bed so they could all reach it. Like starving hyenas, they devoured the deluxe extra-large pie with double cheese and olives within a matter of minutes.

“God, plain old tomatoes and cheese never tasted so good,” said Tripper. He burped loudly, sending the girls into a fit of the giggles.

Finally, silence settled around them.

“Have you guys read The Psychedelic Experience yet?” Mary Catherine asked.

Tripper nodded. “Religious experience.”

“Not me,” said Linda, looking at Tripper with the kind of adoration that Ned recognized; it meant he’d become her Guru of gurus.

“Me neither,” said Gloria.

“Ned? What about you?” Mary Catherine was licking pizza grease from his fingers in a damned good imitation of what he’d showed her how to do with another part of his body.

“No, I haven’t read it yet. Been meaning to, though.”

“You gotta read it,” she said. “I would love to trip with you, Ned.”

“Your wish is my command,” said Tripper. He rolled out of bed and searched around for his pants. From an inside pocket, he produced a small brown envelope, folded twice. He opened it and emptied three tiny squares of white paper, each with a pink circle in the center, onto his palm.

“This, ladies and gentleman, is Owsley’s finest: pure Sandoz LSD-25 in that little dot, undiluted and unadulterated. Not cut with uppers or rat poison or anything vile. This is the very best blotter acid money can buy.”

“Wow,” breathed Mary Catherine with reverence.

Ned’s brain balked, realizing where this was heading. He was not averse to others tripping their brains out, and had, in fact, sat around mildly stoned on grass while friends were finding worlds within worlds in the carpet threads. But he hadn’t really intended to do it himself—too risky. The current situation, however, wasn’t lending itself very well to refusal.

“That is so far out, how did you get it?” Mary Catherine was still staring, bug-eyed, at Tripper’s outstretched hand.

He smiled and put the blotters side by side on the nightstand between the beds. “Like Neddy here, I am an artist. Only difference is I don’t paint with water colors.” He took a pocketknife from his pants and carefully sliced two of the blotters in half. “Half a hit for each of you, and a full hit for me, because I’ve done it before and know what to expect.”

He gave them each a slice of paper like a priest dispensing holy wafers. Then he picked up one of the sodas. “Just fold it up and swallow, like this.” He put the blotter in his mouth, tilted the soda can back, and swallowed the paper down with a couple of gulps. Then he handed the can to Ned.

Ned hesitated, feeling bile in the pit of his stomach. But Mary Catherine slid her slender fingers up the inside of his thigh and gave him that look that no dude could refuse.

“Don’t you want to know how it feels to do it on acid, Ned?” Her green eyes were pools of desire.

There was nothing for it. Ned took the tiny piece of paper, put it on his tongue, and chased it down with the sharp tang of Dr. Pepper.

“Me next!” Mary Catherine took the can and downed her dose.

Linda and Gloria followed suit, and then they sat still, looking at one another, waiting.

“How long before it takes effect?” Linda asked. She settled into the crook of Tripper’s arm, looking up at him.

“Depends,” he said. “Five or ten minutes, maybe longer, maybe shorter. If we hadn’t eaten anything it would probably come on faster.”

“W-what does it feel like?” asked Gloria, licking her lips.

Tripper shrugged. “Hard to say. It’s different for each person. I usually start to feel like I’m floating, like being in a plane when it hits an air pocket.”

“Cool!” said Linda and wedged herself tighter under his arm. Ned could see she was putting a brave face on, but he suspected she was scared.

Gloria was sitting perfectly still, saying nothing.

Ned was monitoring his own bodily functions, counting his pulse, running his tongue over his lips, keeping his breath even. He didn’t feel much different from the way he felt after a few tokes, so he relaxed a bit, letting his breath out. It was then he realized with a jerk that he’d been staring unblinking at the veins on the back of his hand, thinking of snakes. Sweat trickled down his body. He decided with a rising panic that it wasn’t so much what your body felt like that was the true power of LSD—it was where your mind went.

“Neddy, make love to me.” Green Eyes was pushing him down and climbing on top of him. He flowed into her body effortlessly, absorbing her molecules one by one into his own gravitational field. He was burning hot and freezing at the same time. Somewhere far away someone was crying, in long slow sobs that could only come from the deepest black hole of despair. It sounded like Gloria. But the instant he thought that, he couldn’t remember who she was. He wasn’t even sure who he was, but that was compounded by the confusion of merging with another creature whose eyes burned above him like emeralds. He could no longer feel his body, but was aware that his essence was flowing out of him like a tidal wave, building as it raced unhindered over the open sea. The entity above him moaned, but that fact held no meaning that his brain could decipher. He was an energy wave, roaring over the ocean of the mind.

Somewhere, someone was weeping. Ned sat up, listening. Mary Catherine lay beside him, breathing heavily, eyes closed. He couldn’t tell if she was asleep or just following her own eyelid movies; it pleased him that he could remember her name. In the bed next to him he could make out figures under a sheet and a long strand of blondish hair. They did not seem to be the source of the sobs. He tried to course the sound, but it was slippery, changing location just as he thought he’d nailed it down. Then he spotted her.

Gloria was curled into a tight ball in an armchair by the window. Wrapped in one of the bedspreads, she sobbed into its folds as if her heart would break. Ned got up unsteadily and went to her.

“Are you …?” He couldn’t think of what he’d intended to say.

Gloria shrank from him, shaking her head. “Don’t touch me,” she whispered, her face red and swollen. “I don’t know where I am. Where is this place?” She was trembling.

“You’re … here.” It was all he could think to say. “Don’t worry.” Why he added that, he couldn’t imagine. His mouth tasted funny and seemed to be over-salivating. He swallowed, sensing an odd metallic taste, but couldn’t figure out why it seemed familiar. Feeling dazed and disconnected from his body, Ned went in search of the bathroom. He found it with difficulty and clumsily flipped the light switch.

An explosion of light seared his retinas. Slowly he let out his breath and tried to relax. He made himself remember that he’d dropped acid with a friend and three strangers, that they were all accounted for, and that he was here, in the flesh, in a hotel bathroom staring at his reflection in the mirror over the sink. 

The face that stared back at him was his own, yet not. The eyes were wrong. Then he realized with a shock that the pupils were vertical slits in a yellow field. Drool pooled in his open mouth and spilled over his chin. The face was morphing before his eyes, turning serpentine and filling the glass until it shattered with an ear-splitting crash. Then he was writhing on the floor under the full weight of the reptile as it wrapped its coils around him, squeezing his breath and life out.

Ned tried to scream but no sound came out. He fought harder, thrashing to free himself from the death adder’s grip. In his head he heard its rasping voice.

“At last!”

Ned struggled and bashed his head against the floor, trying to dislodge the serpent’s hold. Its enormous fangs slashed at his face as he rolled to the side. They struck his neck with such force that his carotid artery was severed and his hot life’s blood poured out, salty sweet, over his face and chest.

“Damned human!” it hissed and spat poison in his ear. “My kind should never be coupled to a human! We eat them for sport!”

Fangs slashed at him again. Ned crashed against the side of the bathtub, his mind screaming. “Wh-what are you?” he managed through clenched teeth.

“What am I, the human wants to know.” The adder’s eyes turned blood red, its fangs yellow-white. “Quinkan. QUINKAN!” The voice scraped Ned’s brains raw. “SAY IT!”

“Q-Qu-Quinkan,” Ned choked, every muscle in his body convulsing.

“The serpent’s not my preferred form,” it hissed, “but I know it’s a shape you loathe.”

“W-what do …” Ned beyond articulating.

“What do I want? Your father was next to useless. But you, you can find where your bastard grandfather hid the tjuringa and put it back where it belongs. Then you and I can part company.” Venom dripped from its fangs onto Ned’s cheek.

And then Ned found his voice. He screamed and screamed, raking his throat raw, emptying his crushed lungs of air. And still he screamed, as if by that one ragged sound he could remain attached to the shred of humanity that was Ned Waterston. If he stopped, he knew beyond doubt, that he would be lost for all time.

Chapter 8

July 10, Sunday—Present Day

Screams ripped the air, explosions boomed one after another. Panicked voices yelled over the din.

“They’re attacking the pilot trainees’ barracks!”

“What news of Lieutenant Zechs? Is he safe?”

More booming and screeching sirens. Shouts disappeared in the crash of masonry collapsing under steel girders. It was a cacophony of destruction.

“Nik, could you turn the TV down?” Alice buried her face in the pillows.

“Ja, sure. Sorry.”

Alice got up and shuffled down the hall. So much for sleeping in on the weekend. Nik and Margaret were ensconced on opposite ends of the long sofa bisecting the single large room that served as living and dining area. The southward facing wall was mostly taken up by sliding glass doors that opened out onto a wooden deck. Saturday morning anime flamed and exploded across the television screen.

Seeing her, Nik pronounced with a grave face, “It appears we have been busted.”

Margaret kicked at him and grinned wickedly. “Turn it up.”

He shook his head. “Experiencing the full power of Chang Wu Fei’s Shenlong Gundam is not worth the price of your mother’s wrath.”

“You’re so weird,” said Margaret, grinning. “That’s why you’re cool.”

“Tack, I think.” He found the remote and lowered the volume, cutting his eyes toward Alice.

She headed for the kitchen alcove, rubbing her eyes. “Who am I to interfere with your Gundam addiction? I’m up now. Do what you want.”

She yawned hugely for their benefit and nuked a cup of water, tossing in an instant coffee-singles bag and swirling it around. 

Nik leaned over the back of the couch, watching her. “Want to go run, then? Before the heat sets in?”

Alice stood at the kitchen counter, sipping her coffee. It was slightly bitter and about as nasty as the corporate stuff. She sucked it down. “Sure.”

Nik turned to Margaret. “You?”

“Uh-uh. You guys go on.” She dug the phone out from under the couch cushions and punched some numbers. “Is Judy there?”

Alice put her cup down in the sink. “Don’t go anywhere till we get back.”

Margaret scowled darkly and took the phone to her bedroom, shutting the door.

Alice got dressed and stepped out onto the deck, Reeboks in hand. Nik followed, stopping just long enough to grab a piece of toast left on the breakfast table. Dawg met them at the head of the stairs and danced around, wagging and salivating.

Alice sat down on the top step to tie her shoes. “You know, she’s developing a really smart mouth, without even saying anything.”

Nik pulled his hair back into a tight ponytail. “I can’t imagine where she gets that.”

“Half the time you’re her accomplice.” She stood up and stretched. “But it’s okay. I’d much rather have you two get along than not.”

“Dawg—fetch!” Nik tossed the piece of toast into the sandy yard below, sending Dawg thumping down the stairs. A rescued shelter mutt, Dawg appeared to be equal parts Labrador, German Shepherd, Collie, Pointer, and who knew what else. His personality, however, was all Lab.

“You know, I had my doubts about Dawg when you moved in. Now I can’t imagine life without him.” She clumped down the steps behind Nik’s back. Or you, she thought.

They walked briskly out to the dirt road that ran for a straight mile past the wooded property, and then turning north, they headed toward the intersection with Magnolia Parkway, the main road into the county seat of Magnolia. Dawg caught up with them and galloped ahead, his black-and-tan tail wagging in wide circles.

They walked in silence for half a mile, just pacing each other. Alice lifted her hair off her neck and reveled in the early morning breeze. Later on, toward noon, the heat would become humid and stifling. Then all you could do was hole up somewhere with air conditioning.

On both sides of the road, butterflies swarmed over thickets of leggy Spanish needles crowned in star-shaped white flowers with yellow centers. To most people, they were just weeds, but Alice considered them an attractive fill plant and butterfly magnet, which was why she tolerated them in her garden. But she knew that by fall she would be cursing them within an inch of their lives as their spiny seed pods stuck to socks and skin.