The Magic Circle Katherine Neville (top 100 novels of all time TXT) 📖

Through many lives, in many spheres,

Brought to a point the dark design

Of this existence that is mine.

I knew my secret. All I was … all I am.

The rune’s complete when all I shall be flashes by

Like a shadow on the sky.…

OLYMPAS:

Through life, through death, by land and sea

Most surely will I follow thee.

—Aleister Crowley,

AHA

I had to sit down, and fast. The blood drained from my brain like the vortex in a sink, as I dropped like a rock into my chair. I ducked my head until my forehead was grazing my knees, to keep from blacking out.

Sam was alive. Alive.

He was alive, wasn’t he? Or maybe I was dreaming. Things like that happened sometimes in dreams—things that could seem very real. But Sam’s voice was still there, humming in my ear, though I’d just returned from his funeral. It was clearly time for a sanity check.

“Are you there, Ariel?” Sam sounded worried. “I can’t hear you breathing.”

It was true: I had stopped breathing. It required conscious effort to begin again, to jump-start even this most basic autopilot function. I swallowed hard, gripped the arm of my chair, straightened up, and forced myself to squeak out a reply.

“Hi,” I said into the mouthpiece. I sounded ridiculous, but what on earth was I supposed to say?

“I’m sorry. I know what you must be going through right now, Ariel,” Sam said: the understatement of the century. “But please don’t ask questions until I can explain. In fact, it’s dangerous for you to say anything at all unless you’re completely alone.”

“I’m not,” I told him quickly. All the while, I was still trying to harness my runaway brain and bring my biorhythms under some semblance of control.

“I figured,” said Sam. “I’ve been phoning since this morning, but I just hung up whenever somebody else answered. Now that I’ve got you, the first thing we have to do is find a clean phone line so I can fill you in right away on what’s happened.”

“You could phone me at home,” I suggested, trying to be careful in my choice of words. I also slid my wheeled desk chair a bit farther from where Olivier, with his back to me, was still tapping away at his terminal.

“No good; your home phone is bugged,” said Sam, who would know such things. “This office line’s clean, at least for the moment—long enough for us to work out a plan. Your car isn’t safe, either,” he added, anticipating my next question. “Someone broke into it and did a thorough search. I left those knots there to warn you. I hope you haven’t stashed anything of significant value in your car or your house: I’m sure you’re being watched by real professionals, and most of the time.”

Real professionals? What was that supposed to mean: that I was somehow embroiled in this spy thriller, too? That was about all I needed to hear, on top of everything else I’d been through in the past twenty-four hours. And though I did wonder what Sam meant by “anything of significant value,” I had to restrict myself to: “I didn’t notice anything …” Instead of “missing” I added, “… out of order.”

Now Olivier was standing up and stretching. When he glanced over toward me, I swiveled my chair away to face my own desk and started acting as if I were taking important technical notes on my phone conversation. The blood was still pounding in my head, but I knew I had to get Sam off the phone, and quickly. I asked him, “What do you suggest?”

“We need to arrange a way that you and I can talk at appointed times, without letting on to those watching you that you’re trying to conceal anything. Like, no ducking into phone booths out on the street.”

Which, in fact, had been my first idea. Scratch that.

“On the computer?” I asked, still scribbling on my pad. I wished to God that Olivier would take a hike.

“Computer?” said Sam. “Not safe enough. Any asshole can hack into a government computer—especially a security computer. We’d have to work out a multilayered code for protection, and we don’t have time. There’s a cowboy bar called the No-Name down the road from your office. I’ll phone you there in fifteen minutes.”

“I have a meeting with my boss in fifteen minutes,” I told him. “I’ll see if—”

Just then, with immaculate timing, the Pod poked his head in at the door. “Behn, I’ve cleared the decks a bit earlier than I’d expected. Come to my office as soon as you’ve finished here. We have something important to discuss.”

“Okay, I guess you’ve gotta go,” Sam was saying in my ear. Olivier started to follow the Pod to the meeting as Sam added, “Let’s make it an hour from now instead. If you’re still tied up, I’ll just keep phoning over there every fifteen minutes or so until I reach you. And, Ariel? I’m really, really sorry about all this.” Then the line went dead.

My hand was shaking as I put the receiver back in its cradle, and I tried to stand up on wobbly legs.

The Pod had halted at the door and was telling Olivier, “You won’t be needed at this meeting, just Behn here. I’m borrowing her for an emergency project for a couple of weeks. A little ‘firefighting,’ helping Wolfgang Hauser of the IAEA.”

He went out the door, and Olivier sank back to his seat with a groan.

“What did I ever do to deserve this, my prophet Moroni?” he asked, casting his eyes toward the ceiling as if expecting to find the Mormon prophet hovering there. Then he looked at me angrily. “You do realize this means I’ve also lost the whole year’s budget for multicolored vegetable pastas from northern Italy, and my allowance for gourmet wine vinegars with herbs and spices?”

“Oh, Olivier, I’m so sorry,” I said, patting him on the back as I went out the door in a kind of daze.

Holy shit—this was shaping