The Slayer of Souls

"How?"

She shook her head and gave him a grave, confused look.

"There are ways. You could not understand… This is going to be a sleepless night for us."

"You can go to bed, Tressa. I'll sit up and read and keep an eye on that door."

"I can't let you remain alone here. I'm afraid to do that."

He gave a laugh, not quite pleasant, as he suddenly comprehended that the girl now considered their rôles to be reversed.

"Are you planning to sit up in order to protect me?" he asked, grimly amused.

"Do you mind?"

"Why, you blessed little thing, I can take care of myself. How funny of you, when I am trying to plan how best to look out for you!"

But her face remained pale and concerned, and she rested her left hand more firmly on his shoulder.

"I wish to remain awake with you," she said. "Because I myself don't fully understand this" – she looked at the knife in her palm, then down at the shroud. "It is going to be a strange night for us," she sighed. "Let us sit together here on the lounge where I can face that bolted door. And if you are willing, I am going to turn out the lights – " She suddenly bent forward and switched them off – "because I must keep my mind on guard."

"Why do you do that?" he asked, "you can't see the door, now."

"Let me help you in my own way," she whispered. "I – I am very deeply disturbed, and very, very angry. I do not understand this new menace. Yezidee that I am, I do not understand what kind of danger threatens you through your loyalty to me."

She drew him forward, and he opened his mouth to remonstrate, to laugh; but as he turned, his foot touched the shroud, and an uncontrollable shiver passed over him.

They went close together, across the dim room to the lounge, and seated themselves. Enough light from Madison Avenue made objects in the room barely discernible.

Sounds from the street below became rarer as the hours wore away. The iron jar of trams, the rattle of vehicles, the harsh warning of taxicabs broke the stillness at longer and longer intervals, until, save only for that immense and ceaseless vibration of the monstrous iron city under the foggy stars, scarcely a sound stirred the silence.

The half-hour had struck long ago on the bell of the little clock. Now the clear bell sounded three times.

Cleves stirred on the lounge beside Tressa. Again and again he had thought that she was asleep for her head had fallen back against the cushions, and she lay very still. But always, when he leaned nearer to peer down at her, he saw her eyes open, and fixed intently upon the bolted door.

His pistol, which still rested on his knee, was pointed across the room, toward the door. Once he reminded her in a whisper that she was unarmed and that it might be as well for her to go and get her pistol. But she murmured that she was sufficiently equipped; and, in spite of himself, he shivered as he glanced down at her frail and empty hands.

It was some time between three and half-past, he judged, when a sudden movement of the girl brought him upright on his seat, quivering with excitement.

"Mr. Cleves!"

"Yes?"

"The Sorcerers!"

"Where? Outside the door?"

"Oh, my God," she murmured, "they are after my mind again! Their fingers are groping to seize my brain and get possession of it!"

"What!" he stammered, horrified.

"Here – in the dark," she whispered – "and I feel their fingers caressing me – searching – moving stealthily to surprise and grasp my thoughts… I know what they are doing… I am resisting… I am fighting – fighting!"

She sat bolt upright with clenched hands at her breast, her face palely aglow in the dimness as though illumined by some vivid inward light – or, as he thought – from the azure blaze in her wide-open eyes.

"Is – is this what you call – what you believe to be magic?" he asked unsteadily. "Is there some hostile psychic influence threatening you?"

"Yes. I'm resisting. I'm fighting – fighting. They shall not trap me. They shall not harm you!.. I know how to defend myself and you!.. And you!"

Suddenly she flung her left arm around his neck and the delicate clenched hand brushed his cheek.

"They shall not have you," she breathed. "I am fighting. I am holding my own. There are eight of them – eight Assassins! My mind is in battle with theirs – fiercely in battle… I hold my own! I am armed and waiting!"

With a convulsive movement she drew his head closer to her shoulder. "Eight of them!" she whispered, – "trying to entrap and seize my brain. But my thoughts are free! My mind is defending you – you, here in my arms!"

After a breathless silence: "Look out!" she whispered with terrible energy; "they are after your mind at last. Fix your thoughts on me! Keep your mind clear of their net! Don't let their ghostly fingers touch it. Look at me!" She drew him closer. "Look at me! Believe in me! I can resist. I can defend you. Does your head feel confused?"

"Yes – numb."

"Don't sleep! Don't close your eyes! Keep them open and look at me!"

"I can scarcely see you – "

"You must see me!"

"My eyes are heavy," he said drowsily. "I can't see you, Tressa – "

"Wake! Look at me! Keep your mind clear. Oh, I beg you – I beg you! They're after our minds and souls, I tell you! Oh, believe in me," she beseeched him in an agonised whisper – "Can't you believe in me for a moment, – as if you loved me!"

His heavy lids lifted and he tried to look at her.

"Can you see me? Can you?"

He muttered something in a confused voice.

"Victor!"

At the sound of his own name, he opened his eyes again and tried to straighten up, but his pistol fell to the carpet.

"Victor!" she gasped, "clear your mind in the name of God!"

"I can not – "

"I tell you hell is opening beyond that door! – outside your bolted door, there! Can't you believe me! Can't you hear me! Oh, what will hold you if the love of God can not!" she burst out. "I'd crucify myself for you if you'd look at me – if you'd only fight hard enough to believe in me – as though you loved me!"

His eyes unclosed but he sank back against her shoulder.

"Victor!" she cried in a terrible voice.