Alchemist Read Free Page A

watch; it was ten past three. But tomorrow was the last day he would see her for a long time. ‘A drink would be good, Mom. Sorry to wake you.’
    â€˜You didn’t – I haven’t been to sleep.’
    He slipped out of bed and pulled on his dressing gown. As he padded towards the kitchen he heard the kettle starting to boil and smelled the sweet smoke of a freshly lit cigarette. The ranch-style house had grown in keeping with his mother’sprosperity over the years. It had started as a modest bungalow in an area that just qualified for a Georgetown address. Appearances had meant a lot to his father – he preferred to live in a small property with a good address, rather than a larger house elsewhere. His father’d had strong, intractable views on pretty well everything.
    His mother made some herbal tea, ignoring the fact that Conor loathed the stuff, then took it through to the old living room that was now only used when his mother was frightened about something. In his early childhood, the room had been a conventional family centrepiece. But over the years his mother had changed it dramatically. She had had the walls and the ceiling panelled in oak, giving it a rather claustrophobic air that was further enhanced by two of the walls being covered floor to ceiling in bookshelves – packed solid with occult reference works and grimoires. Also arranged along the shelves, making access to some of the books tricky, was a vast assortment of rock crystals fashioned into bizarre shapes, and eerie bronze and stone gargoyles.
    Heavy crimson drapes, permanently drawn, kept the outside world at bay. Two Burmese cats sat like sentinels either side of a gas coal fire in a crenellated hearth. This was kept burning, along with two joss sticks, day and night, all year round. A massive woven pentagram hung on the wall directly above the fire, flanked on each side by two tall black candles.
    His mother had eased herself into one of the two comfortable sofas and sat serene in her long black robe. Behind her was the small wooden table where she had done her sittings. A crystal ball, a small glass pyramid and several other artefacts were laid there. On the far wall a row of voodoo masks stared menacingly down on to her computer workstation, from which in less affluent times she posted occult news on to the Internet, gave tarot readings by fax and eMail, and communicated messages for psychic healing.
    A locked door between the two walls of bookshelves led into her inner chamber, where she had conducted her seances and practised ritual magic. Conor had never been permitted inside the room; and although frequently as a child he had stood withhis ear pressed to the door, he had never heard anything other than meaningless chanting.
    His mother drew hard on her cigarette and blew the smoke at the panelled ceiling, which was covered in carved occult symbols. ‘Conor, I know you say your mind’s made up, but I want you to reconsider one more time. I’ve lost too much in my life. I don’t want to lose you.’
    â€˜You’re not losing me – I’m at the end of a phone, we can eMail each other every day – and I’m going to be just a plane ride away.’
    â€˜You know what I mean,’ she said, her tone becoming sharper.
    He said nothing.
    â€˜You just don’t know what you’re getting into. Maybe I’ve taught you too much, given you false confidence. Believe me, I’ve seen it for myself, I’ve experienced what they can do. Think again while you still have the chance.’
    â€˜Mom, I’m going.’
    â€˜You don’t have to go. There are other companies – right here –’
    â€˜Mom! We’ve had this out a thousand times. I have to do this.’
    â€˜You’re as stubborn as your father.’
    â€˜I’m his son,’ he said simply.

3
    London
,
October
,
1993
    â€˜What you have to realize is that in the past one hundred