Free Lady Sativa by Frank Lauria

struck a match. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, you bloody incompetent?” he snarled. He picked up the candle and relit the wick.
    Sybelle was slumped in her chair, eyes half-closed.
    “Don’t you know it’s dangerous to break contact during a séance?” Maxwell persisted.
    Orient stroked Lily’s hair, ignoring Maxwell’s fury.
    “Dr. Orient broke contact well after the disturbance had passed,” Hazer said, his voice unnaturally tight. “Please control yourself, Andersen.”
    “Hazer’s right.” Germaine went to the wall and snapped on the electric lights. “There’s been enough confusion. Someone get Lily and Sybelle some brandy.”
    Maxwell compressed his lips into a pouting scowl and went for the brandy.
    In a few moments, Lily was able to sit up in her chair by herself.
    “Thats never happened before,” Sybelle announced, lifting the glass Maxwell handed her and taking a long swallow. She looked across the table. “Is Lily all right?”
    Lily opened her eyes. “I’m fine,” she said. “Sorry if I... upset your concentration. I don’t know quite what happened.”
    “Don’t apologize,” Germaine said gently, “none of us know what it was. But it’s obvious that we’ve been under some kind of psychic attack.”
    Orient looked across the room. The library was strewn with broken glass and overturned furniture. Books had ‘ been pulled from their shelves and flung to the floor. The floor was littered with debris as if a huge balloon had suddenly expanded inside the room and burst, scattering ‘ everything before it evaporated. “Someone called out a command of dismissal,” he mused as he gazed at the damage, “from the Testament of Solomon, I believe.”
    Germaine smiled and bent his head in a mock bow. “Correct doctor, you’re most discerning. And you used the words from The Book of Demons. The command to Buldumech, the cause of discord between married couples. An apt choice. Who is to know, however, which of our formulas helped cast out the disturbance?”
    Sybelle got up from the table and waded through the papers, books, broken glass, and upset objects on the carpet. “Look!” she cried, bending down and picking up something. “One of the Skrying glasses Carl left me is still whole. That’s a small relief, anyway. But this place is a wreck. I hope the other rooms are all right. I must find a more reasonable control,” she said as she came back to her chair. “Victor is positively wicked.”
    “It’s not important,” Hannah murmured, staring down at her clasped hands. “But we couldn’t find Carl.”
    “Perhaps we’re misreading what went on,” Hazer grunted. “As I recall, Victor didn’t sound angry. He was scared.” He looked around the table. “He told us to go back.”
    Hannah looked up. “Yes, that’s right. He said he couldn’t cross.” “And then the wind blew up,” Hazer pointed out,
    “And we did contact Carl, I think. Lily, do you remember what you were saying?”
    “All I remember is chaos,” she whispered.
    “Well, I do.” He lit his pipe. “One, two, three, no more, find the key, open the door,” he repeated, brushing the ashes from his vest. “Isn’t that it?”
    Germaine’s wide brow furrowed. “That’s right.”
    “Does that mean anything to you, Hannah?” Hazer asked.
    “I don’t know.” She clasped her hands tighter. “Could mean anything.”
    “One, two, three, no more...” Maxwell repeated. “Must be a set of three, obviously.”
    Neilson cleared his throat and extended his bullet head toward Hannah. “But there is a set of three here,” he rumbled. “Don’t you remember? Carl always kept three photographs of you on his desk. Framed. He showed it to me one day.” He nodded his head at the litter of papers around the desk. “It must be there somewhere.” He got up, walked over to the desk, and started rummaging through the debris. He found something and brought it back to the table. “Isn’t this it?”