Lady Sativa Read Online Free

dead.”
    Orient laughed. “Going to need your help to do them in, so keep on your diet. Anything else I have to do?”
    “No, I don’t think so. The conference lasts for a few days. They’re supplying the tickets so you won’t have to worry about that end, and—there was something else— oh yes, bring lots of warm clothes.”
    “How come? It’s only September.”
    Sybelle giggled. “Didn’t you know darling? Carl Bestman lives in Sweden. That’s where we meet every year. It gets very cold, very early. Better bring long Johns.” She giggled: again and hung up.
     
    Orient’s luck proved to be running lame during the next couple of weeks. He was plagued with underexposed images, overheated power packs, inferior skills, and an increasing desire to forget the whole thing.
    An hour and a half before he was due to meet Sybelle at the airport, he found himself still running the last three minutes through the screener. Sordi stood behind him, alternately checking his watch and giving last-minute instructions. “I packed the cashmere blazer and a couple of extra sweaters; I left the leather trench coat out. You’ll need it when you reach Stockholm.”
    “Okay, thanks,” Orient murmured, intent on the screen images. “Do you like the close-up of Sybelle here, or do you think I should splice in a medium shot?”
    Sordi glanced at his watch. “Keep the close-up. It’s more personal. The tux is packed, too.”
    Orient’s attention was still distracted as he began winding the tape. “What?”
    “Your tuxedo. It’s right on top. Hang it up right away when you get there,” Sordi explained.
    “What makes you think I’ll need a tuxedo?”
    “Sure you will, when you win the prize.” He waved away Orient’s protests and pointed at his watch. “Don’t worry about anything. Just make your speech and collect the money. Go get your coat. I’ll finish packing this stuff. We don’t have much time. We still have to pick up Sybelle.”
    When the Ghost pulled up to Sybelle’s brownstone Orient saw her sitting in front, on the sidewalk. She was perched on the largest of four pastel green suitcases that matched the color of her Laurent lapelled, shantung pantsuit. She waved and picked up a hooded, red fox fur coat that complimented the orange highlights in her hair.
    “We’re late,” she called, as Orient and Sordi started loading the bags into the trunk.
    “Don’t worry. We’ll make it.” Sordi held the door open for her. “You look great Sybelle.”
    “Why, thank you.” She smiled and lowered her lashes, silently grateful that the Rolls’ large door made a graceful entrance possible. She began to appreciate Owen’s fondness for the vintage car.
    She was bubbling with anticipation as Sordi sped along the East River Drive toward Kennedy airport. “It’s going to be a fascinating trip, darling,” she told him. “You’ll meet the biggest names in the psychic field.”
    “Looking forward to it,” Orient grunted. He was stretching the truth. Groups, gatherings, and academies made him uneasy. He preferred to work alone and avoid the inevitable politics. He took a silver case from the pocket of his coat and looked at the oval design on its surface. The swirling figure was his Mandala, his meditation scroll The case had been given to him by the master Ku many years ago in Tibet. It was a sign that the time had come for him to return to the cities after months on the mountain. It was also a reminder that he had to take part in the affairs of his time to fulfill his destiny. Orient opened the case and extracted a hand-wrapped cigarette. He looked at Sybelle. “Smoke?”
    She made a face. “You know I hate the way those things smell.” She took an envelope from her purse and fanned herself vigorously as Orient struck a match and the pungent odor wafted back.
    Orient reached over and pressed a switch. A small exhaust fan near Sybelle quickly cleared the air in the car.
    “What a good thing to have,” Sybelle