The Magic Cottage

'Never touch the stuff. Tell you what, I'll join you with a Coke.'

All three of us sat around the kitchen table and I poured wine for the American and myself, while Midge drank straight from the Coke bottle.

'We're very grateful, Mike,' said Kinsella, raising his glass.

'Aah, you know the type—all piss and wind. They saw a coupla girls on their own and thought they'd have some fun. They wouldn't have bothered if you'd have been with Gillie and Sandy.'

'I don't know about that. Seems we're not too popular around this place.'

'Is that right?' I said, as if it came as a surprise.

He nodded grimly. 'They imagine we're a bunch of religious freaks or somethin'. You know what it's like in these tiny backwater communities, suspicious of all outsiders, especially when they're involved in somethin' the locals don't understand.'

'The Synergist Temple? I've got to admit, I don't understand that either. What is it, some kind of new religion?'

He grinned, and Midge raised her eyebrows.

'Synergist?' she asked.

'Someone in the village has already told you about us,' said Kinsella.

'Yeah, the owner of the hardware store.'

'Then you already know they don't like us.'

I felt as if I'd been found out in a lie, but Kinsella was smiling across the table at me.

'Synergist?' Midge repeated, noisily tapping the Coke bottle on the wood surface for attention.

Kinsella turned to her. 'That's the name for our Order.'

'Strange name. I don't think I've ever heard of it before. What does it mean exactly?'

Kinsella sat forward in his chair. 'Firstly, we're not a crackpot religion, not like many that are around today, so please don't associate us with any of those. We're not a charity, nor are we a religious sect in the strictest sense.' He was still smiling, but now looking reassuringly from face to face. 'So, let me explain about Synergism. Fundamentally, it's the belief that the human will and the Divine Spirit are the two agents that can cooperate in regeneration.'

That statement took time to sink in with Midge and me. We stared back blankly and his smile broadened to a grin. Despite his relaxed manner, though, I detected a serious intent in his eyes.

'Just as various chemicals act upon each other,' he went on, 'so we believe that the thought processes of the human mind—which are, y'know, only a complicated series of chemical reactions—can combine with the Divine Spirit, our collective souls, if you like, to produce a unique power.'

I kicked Midge's foot under the table, but she ignored me.

'What kind of power are you talking about?' she asked Kinsella.

'Oh, it's diverse. The power to cure, to influence, the power to create . . . it can be manifested in so many ways.'

'You mentioned regeneration . . .'

'Regeneration is a word we use to cover all aspects of our doctrine. It means the regeneration of our own spirits, and that of . . .' He broke off there, now his smile apologetic. 'You're probably thinking this all sounds crazy, right?'

I had to agree, although I kept quiet.

'But look, all religious devotees pray to their particular deity, whether Christian, Moslem, Jewish—the list is endless. Most times they pray for Divine Intervention, for certain things to happen, or maybe not to happen. They could be praying for themselves, their loved ones, or even the world in general. The point is, they're trying to direct the natural course of events, their own particular god the intermediary or catalyst, or specifically the creator of those events. Our doctrine isn't so different from theirs.'

He sat back in his chair, waiting for us to absorb the revelation.

'But there is a difference,' I prompted. /

'Only inasmuch as we, with the help of our founder and guide, are learning to combine and direct our energies in a more physical sense and, of course, acting in conjunction with the Divine Spirit.'

'I'm sorry,' I said, 'but I'm still not quite with you. This, uh, 'Divine Spirit,' is what?'

'You, me, our thoughts.' He waved his arms expansively. 'The very air around us. And the earth itself, the very power it generates.' His voice had become hushed and I found even I was holding my breath. His enthusiasm had somehow charged the atmosphere.

Nobody seemed to want to break the silence between us for a while and I noticed it was becoming quite dark in the kitchen. The evening had taken on a chill, too.

Midge picked up the Coke bottle to drink from it, her eyes never leaving Kinsella. 'Are there . . . are there many of you at the gray house?' she asked before touching the bottle to her lips.

'Between forty and fifty, I guess. We call the place our sanctuary, by the way; it's our retreat as well as our temple. And we're growing in numbers all the time.' He leaned his elbows on the table, his head jutting forward. 'You know, you two should come over and see us, I really think you'd find it an interesting experience.'

I spoke up before Midge could say anything. 'We're still pretty busy around the place . . .'

He laughed and reached forward to pat my arm. 'Don't get nervous, Mike, we won't try to convert you. No, that's not the way we operate at all.'

I remembered Hoggs's words in the village that morning indicating otherwise.

'You'd meet some very interesting people,' Kinsella continued heartily, 'and from many different parts of the world. You'd maybe get the chance to meet Mycroft, too.'

Some of my wine spilled as I picked up the glass. 'Mycroft?'

'Uh-huh. Eldrich P. Mycroft, our founder, and a very unique man.' Kinsella had hardly touched his wine, but now he took a large swallow. 'This is good stuff, huh? We make a little money from selling this juice. Never ask for donations, y'see, we always sell our home-made goods.'

'Does that bring in enough to keep the organization running?' asked Midge.

'The Temple, Midge, we call it the Temple. The answer to your question is no, not really. We do have private funds, though. It's turned a little cold, don't you think?' This time he rubbed briskly at both upper arms. Oddly, there was perspiration on his brow. 'Yeah, it's turned cold.' He drank wine again, his eyes roving around the room.

'Perhaps I should close the door,' suggested Midge, already beginning to rise.

'No, it's okay,' he quickly said, looking over at the open doorway. 'Uh, it's nice to take in all those wonderful scents from the garden. The flowers out there are a real joy, Midge. Yeah, Mike, you were great helping out the girls like that today. Everything okay in the cottage? No big problems yet? Apart from the bats. You still worried over those bats, Mike?'

Midge and I exchanged glances. Was this guy getting drunk on one glass of wine?

'They haven't bothered us yet,' I replied. I tasted my drink again and it didn't seem that powerful to me.

'You can always count on us to help in any way, you know that.' His fingers twisted his glass around on the tabletop. 'Gets dark early in this neck of the woods,' he said, then laughed, the sound sharp against the stillness of the evening.

'Feels like a storm's brewing,' I remarked.

'A storm? Yeah, that's it, there's a storm coming.' Kinsella was still wearing that inane smile, but somehow he looked uncomfortable—almost trapped. He was beginning to make me jumpy.

I think Midge was trying to calm him when she inquired, 'Are all the people at the Temple around your age, Hub?'

'Oh no. No, we're all age groups. As a matter of fact, even one or two of our Fosterlings are in their sixties. That's what we call the followers, y'know—Fosterlings.'

Jesus, I thought. 'Is that what you are?'

'No, Mike, I'm a first officer.'

'Sounds big stuff.'

'Well, it's a high number in the Temple, carries a lotta weight. Hope it's not going to be a bad storm out there. Can you feel the thunder in the air?'

I could. It was almost tangible. I felt that if I snapped my fingers, they'd spark.

Kinsella gulped down the last of his wine and I raised the bottle toward him. He waved it away. 'I really