Green Eyes

  ‘Astounding, isn’t it?’ said Ezawa. ‘The good magician and the evil apprentice still warring after over a century. Warring inside your head, Mr Harrison. When Otille suggested the hybrid, I ridiculed the idea, but the results have been remarkable. It’s enough to make me re-embrace the mysticism of my ancestors.’ He gave a snort of self-deprecating laughter. ‘The entire experience has been quasi-mystical, even the early days when the lab was full of caged rats and dogs and rabbits and monkeys, all with glowing, green eyes. Pagan science!’

  ‘You’re going to die, Ezawa,’ said Donnell angrily. ‘Just like in the movies, and pretty damn soon. One morning after this breaks, after the papers start howling for your blood, and they will, you can count on it, that old time religion of yours will stir you to wrap a white rag around your head and sit you down facing the sunrise with a fancy knife and a brain full of noble impulse. And the ironic part is that you’re going to be swept away by the nobility of it all right up to the time you get a whiff of your bowels and see the tubes squirming out of your stomach.’

  He broke off and looked toward the door. Only Simpkins was there, but Jocundra heard dragging footsteps in the hall. ‘Who is it?’ asked Donnell, whirling on Otille.

  ‘He says he can feel you, too, but from much farther away,’ Otille’s voice devoid of emotion.

  ‘Our latest success with the new strain,’ said Ezawa. ‘He’s much stronger than you, Mr Harrison. Or he will be. I think we can credit that to his having been a full-fledged psychic, not merely a latent one.’

  Donnell leaped toward Otille, furious, but Simpkins intercepted him and threw him onto the floor. Otille never blinked, never flinched.

  ‘Fisticuffs,’ said a man at the door. ‘Marvelous! Wonderful!’

  He wore a black silk bathrobe matching Otille’s, carried a cane, and the right side of his puffy face was swathed in bandages; but both his eyes were visible. The irises flickered green.

  ‘Papa!’ Jocundra gasped.

  He regarded her distantly, puzzled, then inclined his head to Donnell in a sardonic bow. ‘Valcours Rigaud at your service, sir,’ he said. ‘I do hope you’re not injured.’

  Jocundra took a step toward Ezawa. ‘You killed him!’ she said. ‘You must have!’

  ‘It’s questionable he would have lived,’ said Ezawa placidly.

  ‘Did you kill me, Otille?’ Valcours affected a look of hurt disillusionment. ‘You only told me I had died.’

  It was impossible to think of him as Papa anymore. He was truly Valcours, thought Jocundra, if only a model conjured up by Otille. Death had remolded his face into a sagging, pasty dumpling, reduced all his redneck vitality into the dainty manners of a moldering, middle-aged monster.

  ‘I had to,’ said Otille; she walked over to him and took up his hand. ‘Or else you wouldn’t have come back.’

  Valcours drew her into a long, probing kiss, running his free hand across her breasts. He cradled her head against his chest. ‘Ah, well,’ he said. ‘The joys of life are worth a spell of mindlessness and corruption. Don’t you agree, Mr Harrison?’

  Donnell sat up against the wall, his head lowered. ‘What have you got in mind, Otille?’

  Valcours answered him. ‘There’s a world of possibility to explore, Mr Harrison. But as far as you’re concerned we’ll keep you around until I learn about the veve, and as for your beautiful lady…’ Before Jocundra could react, he prodded her breast with the tip of his cane. ‘I believe a fate worse than death would be in order.’ He laughed, a flighty laugh that tinkled higher and higher, traveling near the verge of hysteria. Tears of mirth streamed from his eyes, and he waved his hand, a foppish gesture that should have been accomplished by a lace handkerchief, signaling his helplessness at the humor of the situation.

  ‘You had your chance,’ said Otille bitterly to Donnell. ‘I wanted you to help me.’

  ‘Help you rule the universe, like with the evil fairy there?’ Donnell said. ‘I thought you wanted to be cured, Otille. How could I help you with that? But you don’t want a cure. You want zombies and horrors and icky delights. And now’ - he cast a disparaging glance at Valcours - ‘now your wish has come true.’

  ‘Be still!’ said Valcours with a hiss of fury. He raised his cane to strike Donnell, and Jocundra recoiled, bumped against Simpkins, and jumped away from him. In his rage, Valcours possessed a melevolence previously muffled by his effete manner.

  ‘You know, Ezawa,’ said Donnell, ‘you’re in big trouble with all this. Maybe even bigger than you could expect. What if this fruit really is Valcours, what if you’ve really worked a miracle?’