The Magic Cottage

though my provocation had led him into giving away too much, and now he was able to draw back. His philosophy obviously had to be administered in much smaller doses.

But Midge was more persistent. 'Is that how you healed Mike's hand so quickly, somehow combining your will with this special force? Is this power the spirit, the Divine Spirit, that you've mentioned before?'

I took a large swallow of wine.

'Ah, so young and so perceptive,' Mycroft patronized. 'But not entirely correct. The human will can be extremely potent by itself.'

She looked confused and I wanted to draw her close. I wondered how she'd react if I invited our guests to take a hike.

Something struck a window from outside—probably t bird, or maybe even a disorientated bat—and Kinsella spilled his drink. He and his friends turned toward the window, but Midge's attention remained on the Synergist leader.

'When we . . . when we spoke before, last week at the Temple, you told me that our individual spirit never loses its potential even if the body dies and even if the spirit has been neglected during the body's life.'

He nodded slowly.

'And you said that we, ourselves, could reach those spirits of the dead.'

'With guidance,' said Mycroft. 'But why so cautious? Why are you so afraid to voice your hopes? We spoke of your parents and I assured you then that the souls which existed within them can be touched, and heard, once more. That part of us will never expire.'

'Then will you help me . . . ?'

'Midge!' I didn't want her to go on with this.

'No, Mike. If it can happen, then that's what I want. More than anything!' She turned back to Mycroft.

'What good will it do?' I demanded. 'You're only opening yourself up for more heartache, don't you see that?'

'I understand your concern for Midge,' Mycroft interrupted. 'And it's precisely because of your love for her that you should support her in this matter. I know you're aware that she feels a deep need to be reconciled with her parents.'

'Reconciled?' I stared at her and she lowered her face.

Mycroft was watching her too. He opened his mouth in an unvoiced 'ah' of comprehension, then settled back in the armchair.

'What's he talking about?' I leaned over and cupped her chin, forcing her to look at me.

'Mike, I . . .'

She pulled her head away.

'Would it be easier if I answered for you?' said Mycroft. 'I had no idea that you hadn't confided your feelings to Mike, but now I understand. Sometimes it's easier to reveal oneself to a sympathetic stranger than a loved one.'

'Midge, if there's something I should know, I'd rather it came from you,' I insisted. 'And I'd rather we were alone when you told me.'

Gillie put her hand on Midge's, and it was Kinsella who spoke up: 'This is sounding more dramatic than it really is, Mike. In our view, Midge's guilt is unfounded, but it needs to be dug out and tossed away before real damage is done. We can help her do that.'

'Guilt? What the fuck are you talking about?' I looked around at them all, bewildered, exasperated, and pretty angry, too.

Midge abruptly shifted round to me, her hands clutching my leg. 'On the day of my father's funeral, when I left Mother in the house—I knew, Mike, I knew she would take her own life! She'd spoken of it so many times, before his death even, hating the burden she'd become to both of us. When he died, suicide was on her mind more and more, something she mentioned every day and every night! But calmly, never hysterically, never emotionally. She was so sad, Mike, but she never indulged in self-pity. All she cared about was that her misery shouldn't ruin my life! And when I left her in the house that morning—alone in that cold, empty house—I felt it so strongly, so overpoweringly, but I never went back. I never tried to stop her!'

I shook my head despairingly.

'Midge, you couldn't know she would kill herself. Okay, you might have had the notion because she was so desperately unhappy and suffering physical pain, but you didn't hand her those pills, you didn't tie that plastic bag around her head! I can't believe you've been blaming yourself all these years.'

'I realized if the opportunity arose Mother might—'

'Might! That isn't the same as knowing for sure. It was her choice, don't you understand that! And what was so bad about that, for Chrissake? Don't you think your mother suffered enough? All she did was show herself a little mercy.'

'It's not that simple.'

'Nothing ever is. But even if you did feel so guilty, why go to these people, why tell them? Jesus, Midge, what was wrong in telling me?'

'I'd kept . . . I'd kept it hidden for so long.' Her grip tightened on my leg. 'That knowledge has never weighed so heavily on me until recently, Mike. It was only when I talked with Mycroft that I realized the guilt had been with me for so long.'

Friend Mycroft. I eyed him coolly.

And received some satisfaction from observing that he actually looked unsettled. Mistakenly, I assumed he was becoming wary of my anger.

Nevertheless, he wasn't short of words. 'I merely sought to understand the nature of Midge's deep-rooted grief, possibly to expose her self-doubts. Can't you see that she needs our guidance?'

'I can see that you've made her believe that. Any help she needs, she can get from me.'

'Not in the way that we can help.'

He'd become distracted, peering around the room.

'What can you do?' I retorted. 'Hold a seance, is that how you'll help her?'

'She has a unique gift . . .'

His voice trailed off when someone moaned. On the floor, Neil Joby was tugging at his shirt collar as if he found the atmosphere stifling. It did feel close in the room, but not uncomfortably so.

'Mike, you've got them wrong.' Midge was looking up at me with earnest eyes. 'Synergism is an answer if it's used correctly. If—'

'Jesus, you're really falling for this shit.'

She sprang away as though I'd struck her.

I quickly modified my tone. 'Listen to me: if there was any guilt over your mother's death locked up inside you, then it was minimal. Christ, I know you better than anyone, and that's something you could never have concealed from me. All this guy's done . . .' I stabbed a finger in Mycroft's direction '. . .is made you exaggerate the guilt in your own mind. Can't you see how he operates? It's nothing new—most religious nuts work on people's own self-imposed shame.'

She kept shaking her head, refusing to hear the words.

'You're wrong,' she said, 'you're so wrong . . .'

Something made me glance at Mycroft then, and I just caught the hint of triumph in his smile. The smile instantly turned into one of well-practiced friendliness, forgiving me for my folly.

'Fuck you,' I said quietly.

A glass tipped over and wine spread on the carpet. Kinsella watched the liquid soak in before turning toward his leader and mentor.

And now Mycroft himself didn't look so bright.

The windows rattled in their frames and attention was diverted toward them. I noticed that Joby was deathly pale and still appeared to be having trouble catching his breath.

Rafters overhead creaked.

The sharpness of the sound startled Gillie so much that she stood and peered up at the ceiling.

'There's a wind blowing up outside,' I said, feeling no particular antagonism toward her. 'Don't worry, the