Excerpt from
The Dark Lord

by Patricia Simpson

As Rae and her sister huddled at the small kitchen table with their cold hands wrapped around hot mugs, Rae looked up at Angie’s pale face.

“You don’t remember anything about the dream?”

“No.” Angie shook her head. Even her lips were colorless. “Nothing.”

“You were talking to someone when I found you,” Rae went on. “You called whoever it was neb.”

“Neb?”

Rae nodded as she studied her sister’s face. “Who do you think you were talking to?”

“Christ!” Angie retorted. “How should I know? And what kind of name is neb?”

Rae took a thoughtful sip of tea and savored the sensation of the warmth radiating throughout her chest. Then she looked over at her sister. “This has got to stop, Angie. We can’t have you sleepwalking every night.”

“I can’t afford to wreck my nails every night!” Angie glared at her cup. Then she slowly looked up. “Maybe it’s that tarot deck, Rae.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe it is cursed.”

“If it were, surely we’d have been dead by now. It’s been weeks since we looked at it.”

“Maybe it doesn’t work that way. Maybe it takes longer.”

Rae frowned. She might believe a lot of things, especially about the ancient Egyptians, based in part on the fact of their construction technique, which went far beyond normal capabilities of that bygone time. She believed the Egyptians had possessed knowledge that far exceeded the puny technical accomplishments of modern man, and that most of their ancient knowledge had been lost over the centuries. She would even entertain the notion that Thomas Gregory had found a sword in a strange tomb and that the sword might possess untold powers. But could a deck of tarot cards induce sleepwalking? She wasn’t so sure.

Angie leaned forward and put a hand on Rae’s forearm. “Maybe we should have someone look at the deck of cards. Someone who knows about them.”

“And who would that be?”

“Someone at the university, maybe?”

Rae did a quick mental rundown of her colleagues and those of Dr. Gregory, and couldn’t come up with a single person she would trust with her secret. Besides, she had her professional reputation to consider. If she showed too much interest in anything paranormal, she would lose all credibility in her department at Berkeley. It would be best to keep the goings on at the Gregory house separate from the workplace. She slowly shook her head.

“There has to be someone,” Angie lifted her mug.

“Well, I did see a person on television the other day--”

“And?”

“She had the exact same deck of tarot cards in her hand. She claimed that Michael’s father hadn’t died of natural causes, and that something had come to life, or something like that.” Rae paused, thinking of the news program. “She held up the very same card we saw in Egypt, Angie. Typhon, the Devil.”

“That’s kind of weird!”

“It was.”

Angie’s brows drew together. “Why didn’t you get a hold of her?”

“I couldn’t decide if I should trust her.”

“But how will you know if you can trust anyone?”

“That’s just it.” Glumly, Rae stared at the pine table top. “That’s the problem. Who do we trust?”

For a moment, they sat together in silence. Then Angie sighed and stood up. “Well, I think we should find that woman. We don’t have to tell her everything. Just see what she knows.”

Rae gazed at Angie, surprised by this new and serious dimension of her sister. For once, she thought Angie was right. It was time to seek out some answers before the sleepwalking went any farther.

“Where is that deck you found?” Angie asked.

“At my condo in Berkeley. I’ll go get it first thing tomorrow.”

“And make an appointment to see that woman?” Angie put her cup in the sink. “When I can go with you?”

“Yeah.” Rae rose from her chair. “And don’t tell anyone yet. Not even Simeon. And especially not Michael.”

“Okay.” Angie rubbed the backs of her bare arms. Her face was pinched with worry. “I have to admit I’m a little spooked, Rae.”

“Don’t worry.” Rae gave her a gentle squeeze with her left arm and a reassuring smile that she did not feel inside. “I’ll figure out what’s going on.”

“I know you will,” Angie said. “You’re my rock, Rae. You always have been.” She pulled away and headed for the stairs. “Goodnight.”

“Night, Ange.” Rae watched her go, surprised by her sister’s last words. She had never thought of herself as anyone’s rock, and certainly not Angie’s.

Just as Rae lowered her cup into the sink, she was startled by the sudden ring of the phone.

Rae reached for the receiver, wondering who could be calling at one o’clock in the morning.

© 2005 Patricia Simpson
Not to be reprinted without the written permission of the author.