"Would you be kind enough to sketch them for me as close to memory as possible?"
Fortune handed him pen and paper, and Doyle complied, handing Blavatsky the result. She studied the drawing, grunted once, then folded the paper and dropped it in her bag.
"Please continue," she said.
He guided her through the trip to Cambridge, his near encounter with God-knows-what in the Antiquities Building, and then showed her the altered book from his rooms.
"What could have caused such a thing?" he asked.
"Ectoplasmic detonation. An entity breaking through from the other side. This is what Petrovitch summoned me to see. Very bad. Of course, at the time I assumed they were after Petrovitch—perhaps they were, secondarily. Be thankful you weren't home at the time. Go on, Doctor."
Doyle's mind spun. "Madame Blavatsky, what can you tell me about the Dark Brotherhood?"
The question prompted a veiled exchange of looks between HPB and Fortune that he was unable to interpret.
"Evil beings. Materialists. Enemies of holy spirit. You should read my work on the subject—"
"I have read your work on the subject, Madame." Only too well, thought Doyle. "I need to know if you believe these beings are real."
She knocked on the table. "Is table real? Is glass real?"
"It appears that they are, yes."
"You have your answer then."
"But are these beings people—I mean, are they in human form, or do they just swim indiscriminately around in the ether?"
"They are spirits who desire human form. They hunger, hovering around it, seeking entry."
"For which, as you write, they require the cooperation of the living."
"Cooperation and sacrifice, yes. They must be invited onto this plane through the enactment of rituals and so forth," she said, somewhat disinterestedly. "Describe for me if you would this Professor Armond Sacker."
"Tall, rangy. Midthirties. Prominent nose, high, intelligent brow, light eyes. Long fingers. Athletic."
This prompted another look between his hosts.
"Is something wrong?" Doyle asked.
"As it happens, I'm to have supper with Professor Sacker this very evening," she replied.
"But you know him then," Doyle replied excitedly.
"For many years."
"You know him well."
"Very well indeed. That will be his step arriving outside our door even now."
There were in fact footsteps outside the door, two sets, and then a knock. Fortune opened the door, revealing the young book clerk.
"Professor Sacker to see you, Madame," said the clerk.
"Show him in," she replied.
Doyle rose. The clerk moved away from the door, and Pro-
fessor Sacker entered. HPB greeted him warmly with a kiss to either cheek.
"How good to see you again," she said.
"And you, my dear, and you," Sacker replied loudly.
Fortune welcomed Sacker familiarly as well and then presented him to Doyle, and Doyle shook the infirm hand of the stooped, diminutive, white-haired eighty-two-year-old man before him.
"Sorry, what was the name again?" asked Sacker.
"Doyle."
"Boyle?" He was nearly shouting.
"Doyle, sir. Arthur Doyle."
"Fine. Will you be joining us for supper then, Oyle?"
"I don't honestly—I don't know, sir!"
"Professor, please go ahead to the restaurant with Mrs. Fortune. I will be along to join you momentarily," Blavatsky said, making herself understood by the old man without raising her voice. She signaled Fortune, who smoothly guided Sacker out of the room.
Blavatsky turned back to Doyle, reading the shock on his face.
"Listen carefully, Doctor," she said. "I am leaving early in the morning for Liverpool and from there in two days' time sailing to America. You must try to remember everything I tell you, which as you have ably demonstrated will not be difficult for you."
"I'll try. If I could ask—"
She held up a hand to silence him. "Please do not ask questions. They will only serve to irritate me. There is a great urgency in you, and I do not doubt what you have told me, but this is a most dangerous time for many initiates in many places, and my presence is promised elsewhere. I do not expect you to understand. Please accept that what I have to tell you will be of some use to you and move forward."
"If I have no other choice."
"Good. Optimism is good, Common sense is good." She put out her cigar. "As mystics are to the occult, there are individuals known as sorcerers to Magick. Magick is the Left-Handed Path to Knowledge; it is the shortest way to the Englightenment we all seek. It has a higher cost. It seems to me that what the man who presented himself to you as Pro-
fessor Sacker has told you was correct in many details: You have been made a target by a group traveling the Left-Handed Path."
"Who are they?"
"This is unknown—"
"The Dark Brotherhood?"
"There are many names for that loose confederation of souls. Their hand is visible behind the sinister actions of countless factions around the world; do not mistake them for some benevolent protective order of lodge brothers. They are our counterparts in exploring what lies beyond, but their sole ambition is material power. They are exceedingly malicious and more than capable of ending your life, as they have done to my dear friend Petrovitch, who was, by the way, a highly advanced Adept who had been watching your progress with interest for some time—"
"My progress?"
She stilled him again and fixed him with her hypnotic gaze, which flared again with the persuasive power she had evidenced earlier onstage.
"You must not waver in your determination. It is your strongest asset. You must not fear, for that will let them in. Regarding all of these phenomena you have described, some of which I must admit are new to me—the blue thread, the strange state of your rooms, and so on—you must remember this: All of these manifestations they create mean absolutely nothing."
"Is that true?"
"Not really, but I strongly advise you to adopt this attitude at once, or things will not go well for you. By the way, may I have this copy of my book? I should like to study it. They appear to have penetrated the skin and altered its molecular structure. If this is true, it is not good."
He handed her the book, gulping back the impulse to ask her why? She studied the book for a moment before placing it in her satchel and turning to him for another long look.
"When things appear darkest, you have friends unknown or unseen—"
"Professor Sacker—"
"The Professor Sacker you have met tonight is a scholar of ancient Mystery Cults. He is a sympathetic colleague of ours,
an academic with no direct knowledge of your lamentable situation. The fact that the man who contacted you used his name is of great significance, which I encourage you to investigate."
"What should I do?"
"What should you do? That is a most excellent question," she said seriously. "What do you think you should do?"
Doyle thought for a moment.
"I think I should visit Lady Nicholson's estate. Topping."
"A sound idea. You are in the grip of a most interesting dilemma, Doctor. I sincerely hope our paths may cross again someday. Do you have copies of all my books?"
"As a matter of fact, they were lost in the—"
"Please see the boy outside. He will provide you with new editions at absolutely no cost. I trust they may prove useful to you."
She turned away and began packing her satchel. Doyle suddenly remembered the talisman sitting in his pocket.
"Excuse me, Madame ... but what do you make of this?" and he showed her the metallic eye Sacker's imposter had given him. She took it from him, looked it over, tried to bend it, then bit down on it. It bore no marks, which drew a nod of approval.