"That foolish hag," Mycroft went on, really getting his teeth into the part, "prevented me from striding the chasm, from absorbing its potency into my being, stopped me from using the ethereal vitality that leaks from this point in the earth's crust. But she was old and feeble, and soon cast aside."
I started to giggle then. I couldn't help it. Maybe it was the onset of hysteria, a combination of exhaustion and fear, but I couldn't help thinking that the situation had got out of hand. God knows why, but I kept wondering what good old down-to-earth Bob's reaction to Mycroft's diatribe would have been. Christ, he'd have been high for a week! The more I thought of that, the more I laughed. I fell back, one arm resting against the sofa for support.
But Mycroft didn't like me laughing. He didn't like it one bit. He pointed the cane in my direction again and I suddenly realized he was using it as a wand. Mycroft the Wizard and his Magic fucking Wand! Tears rolled from the corners of my eyes I was laughing so much.
Midge stared at me as though I'd finally flipped (I probably had at that point). I wanted her to see the joke but I was guffawing so much I couldn't speak. Bob's face, listening to the bullshit Mycroft had just come out with. Too much, too much!
The Synergists gathered around the room were glaring at me. Christ, they'd never see the joke!
I buried my face into the soft material of the sofa, my shoulders jerking with the effort of laughing, wanting to ask Mycroft where he kept his long pointed hat and black kaftan, but too choked up to manage the words. I felt the sofa begin to undulate beneath me. Still giggling, I raised my hand in surprise. My outstretched arm was waving up and down with the material's motion.
A pinpoint in the surface frayed, became a hole. Something black wriggled through. Another multilegged creature followed, popping through and scurrying off. Another and another, becoming a stream of black-shelled bugs.
More holes appeared. More bugs crawled out. More holes. More bugs.
I leapt away and watched in horror as hundreds more— thousands more—gnawed their way through the material, the sofa soon turning into a seething mass of shiny black fermentation. They broke off in well-ordered lines, hurrying down the side of the sofa to drop onto the floor and advance toward my outstretched leg.
Then I remembered that ultimately Bob hadn't been so cheerful in this room (his wit had been scared out of him) and my own manic humor drained away. I pulled in my foot as the first bug climbed aboard.
"Stop it, stop it!'
Midge was on her feet screaming at Mycroft. He merely smiled back at her.
"You can't use Gramarye this way! It's meant for good, not for your perversions!" Her eyes were blazing, her face screwed up in anger.
"The power contained within this place can be controlled in any way its receiver chooses," Mycroft replied. "The old woman could no longer direct its force, she was too weak, made too infirm by her years."
"You killed her!"
Now he grinned, apparently keen on the idea. "Yes, yes, I believe I did. I tempted her with the other side, you see, what you and your like might call the dark side of Magic. Her ending was very sudden—" he seemed surprised, then snapped his fingers "—like that\ One moment alive, the next, dead. She couldn't cope with the revelation, you see, she couldn't accept the blackness inside her own soul. How else could I have revealed such darkness to her if it didn't lurk within herself. Strange how her body corrupted so fast, as if that badness inside swept through her physical being, shriveled her up like an old prune." He chuckled at that, unconcerned at the disgust on Midge's face.
The light faded and rose as though somebody had just been electrocuted next door, and Mycroft's poise momentarily wavered. He peered around at the walls, the ceiling, the floor. Then his grin returned.
"Can you feel the surge of kinetic force?" he asked his followers. "Be receptive, blend your thoughts and absorb its strength. Fill yourself with its vitality!"
Most of them closed their eyes, faces strained in concentration. I saw Gillie, standing close to the wall, sway and almost fall backward. Another woman on the other side of the room moaned aloud. Kinsella continued to watch Midge and me.
Strangely, such was the power of suggestion as Mycroft encouraged the Synergists further, that I also felt a tingling starting in my own spread fingers. The sensation emanated from the floor itself, passing up into my arms and across my shoulders and chest. I suddenly remembered the bugs that had been set to crawl up my leg, yet when I checked, they'd gone, disappeared completely. The sofa contained nothing more than a couple of cushions. The bugs had been another of Mycroft's illusory games.
"I can stop this!" shouted Midge. "That's why I'm here, why I was chosen!"
"Ah yes, you," said the Magician slyly. He pointed the cane and Midge toppled backward. She didn't go down though. She regained her balance and glowered at Mycroft, shoulders bunched forward and fists clenched.
"I can!" she yelled, and I loved her for her defiance. I scrambled to my feet.
She stood with her legs apart, rooting herself to the carpet, and slowly raised her hands to her face, unwinding her fingers and bringing them together almost in a praying gesture. Then she twisted her wrists so that her fingers were leveled at Mycroft, and his expression turned anxious. That, at least, was heartening.
Midge was shivering and it looked as if every muscle in her body was tensed, every ounce of strength she possessed directed at Mycroft. I wanted to cry out, to goad her on. She could do it, I knew she could do it! But my cry was only a whisper.
"Zap the fucker, Midge."
Her teeth were gritted so tight that her face had become a grimacing mask, and her figure was taut, her body like a divining rod into which energy coursed.
"You can do it, Midge!" I called out, still in a strained whisper.
And I was certain she could. She was Flora Chaldean's successor, the natural heir to those weird powers whose source was Gramarye and the ground the cottage stood upon. Everything that had happened over these last few months had been directing her toward this critical point. Whatever governs these mystical laws of sorcery and all that entailed had decided she was the one to carry on old Flora's good work, she was the guardian, the keeper of the power, the one who would prevent it from being perverted. In a funny way, I felt proud (although I could have done without the trauma).
"Get the bastard, Midge!"
Her arms were fully extended, palms and fingers flat together. It was as if she were aiming an invisible gun at Mycroft's head and I reveled in his growing discomfort. The tension constricted my throat and I could cheer her on no more. Instead my fists trembled in the air before me. Now she had him, now she'd put an end to his lousy bloody tricks! Her arms were ramrod straight and I could almost see the energy pouring through.
Mycroft's eyes had widened so that the pupils were surrounded by white.
Kinsella was trying to move in and I got ready to tackle him. But he'd stopped dead, unable to move.
Mounting pressure was drumming in my ears.
Midge's fingers opened.
She exhaled squealing air.
And nothing happened.
"Shit!" I shouted, and stamped the floor.
Mycroft was perplexed. Then very happy. He raised his cane and suddenly Midge's feet left the carpet. She floated upward.