The Colour of Death (29 page)

“Give it back to me,” Sorcha demanded.  “That’s mine.”

Delaney took the locket from Zara and handed it to Kaidan.  “Put it in the tower for safekeeping.”  A cruel smile curled his lips.  “Return it to her mother.”

Sorcha didn’t understand.  “She’s still in the tower?”

“Your mother will always be in the tower.”  Delaney laughed, as if at a private joke.  “Don’t worry.  You’ll get your precious locket back after Esbat.  If you behave.”  Delaney bent down to the helpless Eve, looped the cord around her neck and placed the knot over her windpipe.  Staring at Sorcha, eyes cold as the dead, he tightened the garrote.  “Understand one thing, daughter of mine, I cannot and will to allow anyone to threaten the family or the Great Work.”  Sorcha watched the muscles and sinews move in her father’s wrists as he pulled the garrote tighter around Eve’s neck, crushing the larynx.  Despite the paralyzing drug, Eve’s legs began to twitch.  Her bloodshot eyes bulged in their sockets, her tongue protruded from her mouth and her face turned puce.  Horrified, Sorcha tried to run to her but the Wives restrained her, their fingers digging into her arms.  “To protect the family and stop this fool doctor meddling in our business, you will do exactly as I say, Sorcha,” her father said with chilling calm.  He pulled the garrote one last time and Eve stopped twitching.  “Do you understand?”

Sorcha nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

Chapter 42

Two hours earlier

Fox woke before dawn, his body stiff and aching.  The soil in the forest clearing, which had seemed so soft and welcoming when he had fallen asleep, had compressed overnight, giving no support to his back or protection from the hard rocks beneath.  He felt like he had slept only a few minutes but when he checked his watch, hours had passed.  After making some breakfast, he intended to investigate the hut and clearing, but the dawn light was poor, and the horse was evidently spooked by the place and desperate to leave.

When the rising sun revealed a trail through the trees, Fox grimaced with pain, remounted and followed the meandering path downhill.  After a few hundred yards he turned a corner and, suddenly, below him through the trees he saw buildings.  He reached into the saddlebag and extracted a pair of binoculars.  Despite the gloom, the settlement looked larger and more organized than he was expecting, a proper village rather than some hippy commune.  Delaney’s cult was clearly prosperous and thriving. Though the settlement itself was contained between the forest and the bend of the river its footprint spread further:  the flat valley over the river was covered with a patchwork of crop fields and orchards.  Watching smoke rise from the cabin chimneys and people emerge to start their daily chores was like witnessing a scene from a bygone century.  The only incongruous objects were a large modern generator and a round tower, which, with its conical slate roof and white walls, looked like something from a fairy tale.

He was tempted to continue on the direct path down from the forest and enter the back of the settlement but decided it would be prudent to enter via the main gate and introduce himself.  Downstream, the river narrowed and he could see a ford where he could cross, ride around and go in over the bridge.  The detour wasn’t long and when he saw the signs warning that trespassers would be shot, he was glad he’d taken it.  As he approached the bridge two men stepped into his path.  Both had indigo dots on their foreheads and wore indigo tunics over their jeans.

“This is private property.  Who are you?” said the first man, raising his rifle.

“My name’s Fox.  Dr. Nathan Fox.”

“Get off the horse.”

As Fox dismounted, the second man peered at him.  “He’s a pure indigo.  He’s one of us,” the man said, lowering his rifle.  “What are you doing here, brother?”

“I need to speak to Regan Delaney.”  Both men looked at him blankly.  “The Seer?”  Their faces instantly changed.  His horse was led away to be fed and watered and Fox found himself sitting in the gatehouse with a mug of coffee in his hands.  After more than an hour’s wait he was summoned to a large log cabin next to the tower and ushered into an impressive chamber filled with books.  A large tapestry inspired by Leonardo da Vinci’s Vitruvian man hung by the fireplace; the colored chakras running up the spine reminded Fox of diagrams he had seen at medical school.  Glancing at the books, he noted that their subjects and titles chimed with what Connor Delaney had told him about his brother.  Tomes on religion, science and New Age beliefs dominated.  There was even one entitled
Magnum Opus
— the Great Work.  Regan Delaney might be deluded but he did his research.

“Dr. Fox, what a surprise,” said a familiar voice.  Delaney wore a black tunic over dark trousers and sported a violet dot on his forehead.  “Welcome to the Indigo Family.  I’m sorry to keep you waiting but you’ve come at a busy time.  Can I get you a coffee or anything?”  He extended his hand.

Fox shook it.  “No thank you.”

Delaney gestured to the couch by the fireplace.  “Please, sit.”

“No thanks, I came to speak with Sorcha.”

“Why?  She’s not your patient anymore.”

“I came to warn her.  I believe she’s in danger.”

The welcoming smile remained on Delaney’s face but his hand reached for the ankh around his neck and clutched it tight.  “In danger?  From who?”

“The killer in Portland.  The one who stapled Sorcha’s picture to his victims’ faces.”

“The police told me the killer had nothing to do with her.”

“They were mistaken.”  Fox told Delaney about his trip to Connor and his insight into the colored letters on the killer’s messages.  Then Fox told him about the killer’s apparent fixation on both Sorcha and the third eye.  Finally, he told him about the sacrificial stone and his related theory that the killer not only shared Sorcha’s synaesthesia but also her rare death echo variant.  “I think he knows Sorcha and is or was a member of your Indigo Family.  He may even be here now.”

Delaney frowned.  “This sounds like a police matter.  Why aren’t they here?”

“They already have a suspect and when I explained my theory, especially about death-echo synaesthesia—”

“They didn’t believe you?”

“No.”

“Yet you still came all this way alone to warn Sorcha.  I’m impressed with your dedication.”  Delaney thought for a moment.  “You visited my brother.  Why?  To learn more about me and the Indigo Family?”

“Yes.”

“No doubt you were curious to know if Sorcha was returning to a good home.”  A teasing smile crossed Delaney’s lips.  “You sure you haven’t come here now simply to satisfy your curiosity, and see Sorcha again?”

“Like I said, I came to warn her.”

“That there’s a killer in our midst?”  Delaney sighed.  “Dr. Fox, I’m sure you’re mistaken.  I can’t think of a single disaffected member who’s left the Indigo Family since we moved here over fifteen years ago.  And, apart from Sorcha and me, nobody’s set foot outside the settlement in the last few months.  Whoever killed those men in Portland had nothing to do with us.  To be frank, Dr. Fox, I’m more concerned about your arrival upsetting and disturbing Sorcha, just as she’s settling down and reclaiming her life.  She’s perfectly safe here.  No family member would wish Sorcha harm.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“She’s too important.”

She’s too important?
  It was a strange phrase for a father to use about his daughter.  “She’s too important to what?  The Great Work?  Perhaps one of your people wants to sabotage the Great Work by harming Sorcha?”

Delaney raised an eyebrow.  “You
have
been talking to Connor.  That’s ridiculous.  No one here would want to undermine the Great Work.  I’m sorry, but I have to agree with the police.  I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey.  Sorcha’s perfectly safe here.  And perfectly happy.”

“What about the killer’s death-echo synaesthesia?  That can’t be a coincidence.”

“There’s no proof the killer has any form of the
mothú
, let alone what you call death-echo synaesthesia.”

Fox remembered Connor telling him how his brother had lingered in the bedroom where their father had died.  “What about you, Mr. Delaney?  Do you share your daughter’s death-echo synaesthesia?”

Delaney frowned and again clutched at the amulet around his neck.  “You’re not accusing me of being the killer, are you?”

Fox noted that Delaney didn’t answer his question.  “I just want to speak with Sorcha about my concerns.  Let her decide.”

Delaney studied him a moment, then nodded.  “Very well.  After you’ve come all this way the very least we can do is allay your fears.”  He headed for the door.  “Come, I’ll show you the settlement on the way.  Whatever my brother’s told you, I want you to see for yourself that Sorcha’s in the bosom of her family and safe.  All I ask is that you promise to leave after you’ve spoken with her.”

“And if she chooses to leave with me?”

“Why would she want to leave?  Will she be any safer with you?”  Delaney smiled.  “It’s more likely
you
’ll want to stay with us, Dr. Fox.  After all, you’re one of us, an indigo.”

As he followed Delaney outside, the morning sun was already shining down on the settlement.  Seeing it bathed in golden light, Fox had to admit it was hard to imagine evil lurking in this bustling, idyllic retreat from the world.  Everyone they passed greeted Delaney with genuine awe and reverence.  However deluded he might be, his subjects didn’t appear fearful or downtrodden.  “Why is the Great Work so secret?”

“It’s not so much secret as private — and sacred.”

“Can you tell me what it is?”

“It’s more than just one thing.  The Great Work involves a number of stages.”  Delaney pointed at the corral.  “Connor must have told you about the horses, the thoroughbreds.”

“Yes.”

“Well, a key part of the Great Work has always been nurturing and perfecting human thoroughbreds.”

“You mean synaesthetes.”

A nod.  “Turquoises, blues, indigos and beyond.  From the very beginning, before I joined them, the family have been nurturing those with heightened, synergistic senses.  People like you, Dr. Fox.  When I joined, however, I immediately realized we had to take it further.  The world’s in a mess because its dominant species is a mess.  To protect the future we must look to the past.  We need to reach beyond the physical preoccupations and limitations of our base humanity — and rediscover our primal link with the divine.”

Fox frowned.  “Isn’t that what all religions try to do?”

“I’m not talking about prayer and some vague promise of an afterlife.  I’m talking about using our sensory gifts to explore and inhabit the spiritual realm, now — in my lifetime.  In
our
lifetime.”

“Why’s Sorcha so important to this?”

“You know how special she is, Dr. Fox.  You know what she’s capable of.  She’s about as pure a thoroughbred as you can get.  Her retrograde amnesia also serves as a powerful metaphor for the Indigo Family.  Did my brother tell you about the Nephilim — the progeny of fallen angels and humans — and that all indigos are descended from these hybrids?”

“Connor told me of your beliefs.  Yes.”

“Just as Sorcha has lost her memory and forgotten her identity, so most indigos have forgotten theirs.  They’ve forgotten that they’re the descendants of angels, with divine blood running in their veins.  Only by restoring this genetic memory and lost identity, and accepting that they’re
more
than human, can they realize their full potential.  Not only to make this world fit for angels, but also to shake off their earthly shackles and regain their connection with the spirit world.”

Fox didn’t challenge Delaney’s convictions — and delusions.  Not only would it be pointless, he saw no reason to antagonize his host and jeopardize his mission.  As they passed the tower he noticed the large eye.   Glancing back at the horses he remembered what Sorcha had told him of her nightmares.  Had her subconscious remembered this place in her dreams?  If so, why had it terrified her?  “What’s the tower for?”

“It’s an observatory.”

Fox looked up at the windowless structure and assumed he was joking.  “A what?”

“A
spiritual
observatory.  It helps me look beyond the veil dividing the physical and spiritual realms.  Its lens  doesn’t look outward to the stars but inward to the soul.”

“How does it work?”

Delaney shook his head.  “Only the chosen can enter and I doubt
you
would see anything of interest inside.”

As they approached the Great Hall, Fox noticed people engaged in feverish preparations.  “What are they doing?”

Delaney led him through the doors into the building.  “Getting everything ready for tomorrow’s feast of Esbat.”

“I thought Esbat was a Wiccan ceremony for witches?”  One of Fox’s patients had been obsessed with the occult and often talked of Esbat.

“It is.  We borrow practices from all spiritual traditions.  Esbat is the time when we concentrate all our senses — physical and spiritual — to look beyond the veil that separates the human world from the divine.  We all passed through this veil once, when we were born, and we’ll pass through it again when we die.  But in our lives most can’t remember what we experienced before birth or predict what we’ll experience after death.”

“And you believe your observatory can help you see beyond the veil during your lifetime?”

A smile.  “Once we master control of our astral bodies we cannot only see beyond the veil but pass through it and visit the other side.”  Delaney expressed himself with such conviction that Fox could only nod in acknowledgment.

As he considered his response, Fox glanced around the Great Hall.  The soaring space seemed even larger because of two large glass panels in the roof, which revealed the blue vaulted sky and allowed light to flood the hall.  Standing by the raised dais were three striking women in exquisite indigo gowns.  Evidently preparing for tomorrow night’s ceremony, the trio were attending to a fourth woman.  Fox watched, entranced, as they decorated her hair with violets and white lilies and fussed over her dazzling white robe.  When they stepped back to reveal the creature in all her glory, her ethereal beauty made even their considerable charms seem ordinary.