I know about such things, sexual magic, from the past.
The torture and the blood, the sudden awakenings.
But I have not thought of them in a long time.
I find a sandy bluff and sit atop it to mentally survey my life, trying to find a point where my blood could have been taken without my knowledge. But except for Arturo and his alchemy, I think, my blood has always been mine to do with as I chose. Yet a faint feeling of dread sweeps over me as I look back. My shadow is long and dark. In it could lie secrets, hidden from even me, where blood was exchanged and vows were pledged that my conscious memory never recorded. It is as if I sense a blank spot, a place of reality that wasn't real after all. But I only sense its existenceIdon't see it. I have to wonder if my imagination leads me to a wall of illusion. My thoughts are never far from those I left behind in Tahoe: John, Seymour, Paula. But Paula swears they are safe there, for now, and she should know. She who has deep visions.
A shooting star crosses the sky and I make a wish.
"Krishna," I whisper, "don't let me die until I have set right what I made wrong."
Suzama's words are with me. God's plan.
Somehow I know it was me who messed it up.
Maybe that's what she had been trying to tell me.
Maybe that was why she sent me away.
4
The next morning I am at the FOF convention in the Holiday Inn, milling around the many booths, poking my head in on lectures. The attendance is substantial, at least two thousand people. The crowd is pretty evenly divided between males and females, but otherwise the cross section is peculiar. There are, for want of a better expression, a lot of nerds here. Many are overweight and wear thick glasses. These are true believers, no doubt about it. The saucers are coming and they are prepared. In fact, they believe they are already here. Eavesdropping on their jumbled thoughts, I soon get a headache.
I sense no superbeings in the vicinity, yet I don't drop my guard. If this convention was important to Linda, there is somebody significant here. If only I knew who. Besides thoughts, I listen to heartbeats, trying to find physiologies that mimic mine. But there is nothing here but pure humanity.
The talks are boring, discussions of different sightings that have about as much credibility as reports of Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. As I sit through one, yawning, I think about what I should have done with myl ife. Retired to a remote spot to spend a year building toys and baking goodies, which I would deliveronce a year to the needy. At least then I could have given vampires a better name.
Yet there is a lecture at the end of the day that catches my eye. It is entitled: "Control Versus AnarchyAn Interstellar Dilemma." The speaker is to be Dr. Richard Stoon, a parapsychologist from Duke University. He has a list of impressive academic credentials beside his name, but it is really the buzz of the crowd that draws me to the talk. They have been waiting for this guy. I hear them whispering to one another. Dr. Stoon is supposed to be brilliant, charismatic, unorthodox. It is the last lecture of the convention, and I take a seat at the back of the audience and wait for Dr. Stoon to enter.
Beside me sits a pale blond woman, with a waist as small as my own, and clear blue eyes. She has a kind smile and I quickly scan her mind, detecting nothing more than a day job at a boring office, and a husband who has just been laid off. She appears to be in her early twenties but could be older. Noticing my scrutiny, she glances over and brightens.
"Hello," she said with a southern accent. "It's been a fun convention, hasn't it?"
"I haven't been here for the whole thing. I just caught today."
"Have you heard Dr. Stoon speak before?'"
"This will be my first time. What's he like?"
"Very forceful, opinionated." She pauses. "He's interesting but to tell the truth he is awfully arrogant."
"Why don't you leave then?" I ask.
She makes a face. "Oh, I couldn't do that. I'm one of those people who has to see everything." She pauses and studies me. There is a sparkle in her eyes; she is far from stupid, but she doesn't want people to know. She offers her hand. "I'm Stacy Baxter."
I shake." Alisa Perne. Pleased to meet you." I give one of my more common aliases because I'm no longer trying to hide. I want to draw the enemy out.
"Very pleased to meet you," Stacy replies. "I don't think I've seen you around before?"
"This is my first UFO convention."
"So what do you think?"
"It's all very interesting."
Stacy laughs. "No, you don't! You think we're all crackers."