His words were slow and penetrating, said in a low voice. "Remember, we can help you. Believe in the regeneration of the spirit, understand that there are few barriers to the human will."
I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd handed her his business card.
He took his eyes from her and surveyed the room once more, lingering on the windows, resuming the scan, taking in everything.
A different noise came to us, and it was from above our heads, a muffled pattering, almost a soft vibration, rising and swaying in volume and rhythm.
A frantic beating of small wings.
I knew where the noise was coming from and who was making it, and I began to get as nervous as our guests.
"Mycroft," said Kinsella, a hint of pleading in his tone. "It's time to go."
Joby, sagging visibly, seemed in agreement. In fact, the three young Synergists looked as if strength was gradually draining from them. They were all very pale.
The windowpanes shook so hard I thought they might shatter. This time I was the one who jumped to his feet. Only Midge remained sitting.
"I'll see you out," I told the Synergists.
Mycroft turned to me, no hostility in his gaze, only a cool appraisal.
"You mustn't stand in her way," he said to me.
"What I can't figure," I replied, starting to feel a bit trembly, "is why you're so interested in Midge. D'you always take this kind of trouble to convert a new face?"
On the surface, his manner was easy, almost casual; but the giveaway was his eyes, which were constantly moving, flicking this way and that, like those of a jungle explorer waiting for the first poison dart.
Midge, hunched forward on the sofa, hands clasped together on knees, spoke up: "Would you please stop talking about me as though I'm not in the room? Mike, there are certain things that you obviously have no interest in, nor comprehension of, so please don't interfere. These people are my friends—our friends—and all they care about is my peace of mind."
"Don't you think I care too?"
"Then show me! Help me!"
"We'll talk about it when they're gone," I said more calmly than I felt.
"Yes, you should," said Mycroft, the condescending bastard. "Mike has a right to his opinions. It isn't difficult to appreciate his skepticism given the usually poor and biased publicity that sects such as ours attract. Misguided though they are, these prejudices are accepted and tolerated by our members. We've learned to have patience."
Mine had just run out. I strode across to the open door and stood by it, my meaning fairly evident.
Mycroft smiled, but I could see the grimness there. He reached down and touched Midge's forehead in the same manner he'd touched Joby's earlier.
The frantic, if dulled, drumming from overhead was becoming hard to ignore, and the air in the room seemed too warm, too thick, despite the wind outside rattling the windows.
My head shot around when the door across the hallway rampaged against its lock and hinges.
Alarmed, I backed away, but at least the Synergists were galvanized into action. The three younger members grouped together and Mycroft indicated that they were to follow him. They came toward me like a worried Scout pack looking for the way home, Kinsella and Gillie supporting their companion between them. I observed, not without pleasure, that even the Synergist leader was wilting slightly under the heavy atmosphere.
The bats in the attic were working themselves up into a frenzy by now and I wondered if the cause of their upset was the freak gale skimming through the roofs eaves, creating some kind of maelstrom in the loft. I thought I could hear their faint peeping shrieks, but put it down to overstretched imagination.
Mycroft paused at the door to the hallway, and for a moment I thought he might take the downstairs route out; instead he turned back to Midge and said, "I'm ready to be your ally whenever you need me, whenever you find your courage. You'll find only by seeking."
She stared at him, a small, lost figure, her hands still clutched together on her knees; but she didn't say anything in return.
Then Mycroft marched into the hall and yanked at the outside door, pulling it open without hesitation.
I expected the wind to come howling in and steadied myself for the blast. But there was nothing. Not even a breeze to ruffle our hair.
He stepped into the night, the others crowding behind him as though anxious to keep close, and I hurried across the hallway to shut the door again. Before I did so, I watched them make an unsteady descent of the stone steps, the gloom out there making progress slow. If it wouldn't have proved inconvenient for me, I'd have cheerfully hoped that at least one of them would break a leg.
They disappeared around the curve and I relaxed a little, more than relieved to see them gone. But I blinked at the night, mystified as to how it had calmed so suddenly. As far as I could tell, not a blade of grass stirred, not a leaf was tossed. The air was mild and fresh and pleasant to breathe.
And when I went back inside, closing and locking the door behind me, even the bats had settled, not a sound coming down from above.
Only the strong musty odor was left to unsettle me.
GHOSTS
AND THAT'S NOT all. That wasn't the end of it that night.
I awoke later and it was very dark in the bedroom, shadows blending into deeper shadows, odd bits of furniture becoming more than they really were, transformed into sinister shapes that lurked rather than just stood.
Midge was sitting up beside me, and it was either her movement or the tension she gave out that roused me, because she hadn't reached for me, nor called my name.
Alertness sprang at me, not bothering with creeping up, and I pushed myself onto my elbows. Midge's arm was stiff and unyielding when I touched her, the skin roughened by goose bumps.
"What is it?" I whispered urgently, not knowing why I'd whispered.
She didn't answer right away.
I was grabbing for the lamp switch when her voice stopped me.
"They were here," she said breathlessly. "Oh, Mike, they were here."
I turned back to her and held her in the darkness.
"Who were here? What are you talking about?"
She shivered in my arms.
"I sensed them both." There was a shaky kind of awe in her whisper. "I felt I could almost reach out and touch them. They were here in this room."
"Midge, who the hell are you talking about?"
I heard her weeping, but there was no sadness in her voice when she spoke again.
"My mother . . . my father. They tried to speak to me. They need to, don't you see?"
I held on to her and my flesh prickled as much as hers.
BIRTH DAY
WAKING UP next morning was more gradual.
Still blurry-headed, I turned over in the bed to snuggle up to Midge. She wasn't there, though.
Cranking open eyelids that felt as heavy as garage doors, I squinted at her side of the bed to confirm what touch (or lack of it) had already told me. Further thoughts trailed along at a more leisurely pace, taking a little while to come together, but memories of the night before, post-Mycroft included, eventually shifted the last threads of drowsiness.
I rolled onto my back and stared up at the ceiling. Cold light of day and all that: last night's traumatic episodes, both of them, now seemed unreal. The Synergists' menace just stopped short of being farcical on reflection—I mean, neither of us was naive enough to fall under their influence, we weren't kids, receptive to being drawn into such a ridiculous cult. We were nonconsenting adults. Yet Midge had been more than a mite spellbound by Mycroft, there was no doubt of that, and I realized there was more to the man than I had assumed on our first meeting, when his charisma had been understated to say the least. Maybe that was part of his allure, his very ordinariness negating any suggestion of charlatanism.