Morgaine and Michael [The Morgaine Chronicles #8] Page 3

  "Which are considerable, as you well know."

  "Yes. But I feel that I must use those powers judicially."

  "Of course. Well, goodnight, Nicholas."

  "Goodnight, Morgaine."

  The woman vanish into the blackness, and Bongiglio returned to the limousine.

  * * * *

  But who was this man, Nicholas Bongiglio, really? Eight years previously, his mother, Bridget Bongiglio, and her husband, Tom, lived temporarily at Moonwood, the abandoned mansion where Mandy encountered Victor Legion. Tom Bongiglio was a hard working twenty-five year old building contractor. He had been living with his fiancé, Bridget Ryan, for two years, a girl he met in college. Their marriage plans were disrupted when he quit college to take over his father's construction business.

  Bridget Ryan was twenty-four, Irish Catholic and devoted to her religion. Sometimes, she chided Tom about his lack of spirituality. On the other hand, he kidded her about her belief in astrology and the paranormal. She worked for Tom as bookkeeper, secretary, sometime forelady, saleswoman, and so forth. From time to time she did every job in the construction business except the actual carpentry. Because she had taken course in interior decorating in college, she helped Tom in that area when called upon. In addition she was a unabashed optimist, pleasant and good humored, which helped when dealing with customers.

  Nonetheless, at the time Tom's construction business was not doing well. As a result, the couple jumped at the chance to renovate Michael and Melody Ellul's old mansion, Moonwood. Because Moonwood was located in upstate New York, they moved into the mansion while the work was being done. During their stay, evil assaulted them at every term. It began when they heard rumors that the Ellul's practiced witchcraft. As a result Bridget visited a local psychic. A bad mistake. The seer was Morgaine, the demon witch. Soon afterwards, she seduced Tom. After many other mysterious and terrible events, Morgaine has a vampire steal Melody's blood which she mixes with Tom's semen to produce a homunculus. The demon Asmodeus sends his spirit into the evil creature and rapes Bridget. Morgaine casts a spell to make Bridget and Tom forget all the horror that happened to them.

  The child conceived by the coupling of Bridget and the homunculus was Nicholas Bongiglio.

  Bridget's pregnancy was strange. For one thing, it lasted only three months. During the second month, she had begun to show.

  Doctor Lambert said, “I'm afraid you're further along than you thought, young lady. From the size of the fetus, I'd say that you've been pregnant at least four months."

  "Really? I don't know how that could be. I had a period two months ago, and I just started morning sickness."

  Lambert shrugged. “Look at the ultrasound."

  Bridget and Tom stared at the screen. They saw that the fetus had arms and legs and eyes. Tom pointed at something on the screen. “Does that mean that it's a boy?"

  Lambert studied the fuzzy image for a moment and laughed. “That's not what you're thinking. It's a tail."

  "A tail? Our child will be normal won't it?"

  "Oh yes. At this stage, it's normal for some fetus's to still have tails."

  Bridget said, “With those two little bumps on its head, it looks like a little devil."

  "It probably will be if it takes after me,” Tom said, laughing.

  Lambert gazed at the bumps with a puzzled expression. “I didn't notice those before."

  * * * *

  By Bridget's third month, her belly and breasts had swollen so that she appeared to be in her third trimester. About this time she heard voices in her head. One day she while she watched a soap opera, someone cried, “Mama."

  She peered around. No one was in the room. She decided that it must have been one of the characters in the show. But someone calling “Mama” did not make any sense in the context of the scene. A few minutes later, the same child's voice cried, “Mama, I'm hungry. You must eat."

  She turned off the TV. Again there was that plaintive cry, “Mama, feed me.” She realized then that there was no actual sound. The voice was in her head.

  "Jesus and Mary, my hormones must be all out whack. I'm having hallucinations."

  "No Mama. You're not going crazy. It's me.” At that moment the fetus thumped against the stretched skin of her belly as if to indicate that it was who was talking to her.

  Is this possible? she thought. Could my baby really be speaking to me telepathically?

  "Please eat something, Mama."

  There was that plea again. Although she did feel especially hungry herself, she went into the kitchen and made a sandwich and poured a glass of milk. After she finished eating, the child spoke to her again. “Mama, I feel better now."

  Bridget decided that if she was going nuts, she may as well go all the way. She looked down at her stomach and said, “How is it that you can talk to me? Babies aren't supposed to be able to do that."

  "But I'm a special child. My father is a powerful entity."

  "Tom, powerful?"

  "Not Tom. My real father."

  Bridget became concerned. She did not like the turn of the conversation. “What do you mean? Who is your real father?"

  "A being of another world."

  "You mean like an angel?"

  "Sort of."

  CHAPTER 3. LITTLE NICKY

  Bridget was torn. She wondered whether she should see a psychiatrist. But she feared that she really was insane and would be institutionalized. She had an uncle who that happened to. His time at the asylum haunted him all his life. After years of unemployment, he committed suicide. Although she worried about her mental health, she did not tell anyone, not even Tom or her priest, that she conversed telepathically with the child in her womb.

  Finally, out of desperation, without telling Tom who did not approve, she visited a psychic. Madam Katona's home and place of business was a first floor flat in an old brownstone. A small sign on the door read, “Madam Katona. Psychic. Tarot Card, Palmistry and Crystal Ball Reading, Seances by Appointment Only.” Each time Bridget entered the psychic's murky and mysterious parlor, it was as though she had stepped through the fabric of time into a bygone era. The small room was crowded with furniture, a threadbare overstuffed sofas, shiny leather chairs with worn seats and round tables covered with colorful silk doilies with long fringes on a faded Oriental carpet. The flowered wallpaper was dark and stained. Lace curtains decorated the windows, and the odor of incense permeated the thick, musty air. Pots with large ferns squatted in the corners, flower and herbs graced every window sill and ivy trailed leafy tendrils from ceiling-hung planters. Books with worn covers were piled on shelves interspersed with strange knickknacks. The drapes were always drawn, making the room gloomy despite the dim light from Tiffany lamps.

  Madam Katona was near seventy, had a thousand wrinkles and deep creases in her bronze face. She wore long skirts with a colorful pattern, a peasant blouse off her shoulders and a white bandanna to keep her long unruly white hair in place. She spoke English with a thick eastern European accent.

  "How may I help you, child?” she asked as she led Bridget to a chair at the round table where she conducted her business.

  "Madam Katona, I think I may be going mad. The baby inside of me is talking to me—telepathically."

  Madam Katona put her hand on Bridget's arm. “Receiving a communication through your mind does not necessarily mean that you're going insane. It may not be the infant, but from another source—a beloved one who has passed away perhaps."

  "By the things that he's saying, it can be no other."

  "Hmm. Let me place my hand on the womb chakra."

  Bridget rose and stood by Madam Katona, who put her hand on Bridget's swollen belly. The psychic closed her eyes as though listening for something. Suddenly they snapped open, and her lower jaw dropped. She pulled back her hand as though it had been burnt.

  "Oh my dear. There is an evil thing within you."

  "Evil? How can you say that? It's my baby."

  Madam Katona shook her head. �
��It is no child. It is something else, something from the abyss."

  "Are you saying that I'm carrying a demon?” A nightmare that Bridget had that something awful had happened to her while she was in the hospital in Kingston, New York, suddenly came to mind. She wondered whether it really happened and was not a nightmare. She shuddered and began to weep. Was it possible that she was raped by the horrible tiny creature she had seen in her recurring dream? No. It could not be. “What nonsense,” she cried.

  Madam Katona gazed up at her. “Although it may seem incredible to you, it is true.” She made the sign of the cross on Bridget's belly. A sharp pain emanated from the area, and Bridget felt the fetus move restlessly.

  "No. No,” she cried. “It can't be.” Tears flowed in earnest, and she fled the psychic's flat. She wandered around for a while in a daze. Finally, she came upon a Catholic church. She entered and kneeled before a statue of The Virgin. “Oh Holy Mother, help me. Give me a sign. Is what Madam Katona said true? Am I carrying a demon?"

  Bridget looked up into the painted statue's face. To her amazement, bloody tears were running down the Madonna's cheeks. “What am I to do?” she cried.

  At that moment, another spasm crossed her stomach. She leaned her head against the base of the statue and prayed some more. After a few minutes, she felt another pain, and her knees were wet. She looked down. Under her there was a puddle of sticky liquid. Her water had broken.

  She cried out. “Someone help me. I'm having the baby."

  The priest ran over, helped her to a pew and called for an ambulance.

  * * * *

  At the hospital, Tom visited with Bridget until she indicated that she was tired and wanted to sleep. Afterwards, he asked to speak to her doctor.

  "Doc, what's wrong with Bridget? I don't know what's got into her. She won't have anything to do with our little Nicky. She refuses to breast feed, doesn't even want to hold our child and calls it a demon."

  The gynecologist shook his head sadly. “It's called postpartum depression. I'll have our staff psychologist talk to her."

  However, the psychologist got nowhere with Bridget. She refused to take any antidepression medication to relieve the symptoms or to start therapy. She insisted that her baby was a demon. Finally, she agreed to talk to the hospital's Catholic chaplain. She wanted him to perform an exorcism on the infant, which he refused to do.

  Tom wondered whether he should start proceedings to have her committed. He consulted the psychiatrist, but received no help there. All she said was to make Bridget take the medication and to keep an eye on Bridget when she was around the baby. The chaplain gave him the same advise. He was at his wits end. How could he watch her night and day? They could hardly afford a full-time nanny. He dreaded the day that they would bring the baby home.

  One evening as he sat in the dark trying to decide what to do, he heard someone nearby breathing. The sound came from a dark corner of the room. He turned on the lamp next to the chair. Standing there was the psychic that Bridget had gone to while they were upstate.

  "Morgaine,” he cried. “What the hell are you doing here? How did you get in?"

  The temptress grinned at him, her dark eyes fixing his so that he could not turn away from their hypnotic quality. “I have my ways. Since your wife is in the hospital, I thought you might be lonely."

  "No. I won't let you seduce me again. I won't cheat on my wife."

  "Too bad. But don't worry, that is not intention. I like to tease."

  Tom eyed her suspiciously. “Why are you here then, witch?"

  "I want to help you and Bridget. I understand that she believes that little Nicky is a demon and won't be a mother to the infant."

  "I don't know how you found that out, but what can you do?” The woman frightened Tom. He knew that she had something to do with the awful events that occurred while Bridget and he were in Woodstock and which he had a hard time recalling. Those weeks seemed like a nightmarish dream, vague and fuzzy, as though they were part of a half-forgotten movie.

  "I can cure her of the ‘postpartum depression’ as her doctors have phrased it. You know I have great psychic and hypnotic powers. Bring me with you to the hospital. In the maternity ward, they only allow visitors other than the father if the patient gives permission."

  "Why don't you simply appear in her room? Isn't that how you got in here?” Tom was a skeptic about most things having to do with the paranormal, but his experiences in Woodstock had softened his doubts. He was sure that Morgaine could do magic.

  "I wish to cure your wife, not frighten her. Besides I may need your help."

  "Good luck with getting Bridget to cooperate. She wouldn't do anything the doctors asked.” He paused and contemplated Morgaine's proposal. He did not trust the woman or whatever she was, but he was at his wit's end as what else to do. “Okay. Let's go."

  * * * *

  When Morgaine and Tom arrived at Bridget's room, Bridget was reading the Bible. Tom went over and kissed her on the cheek. “Hi Hon, I've brought a visitor. You remember Morgaine, the psychic you consulted in Woodstock?"

  Bridget carefully laid the Bible down. “Oh yes. Hi, Morgaine. What brings you to New York?"

  "Got tired of small town life. Congratulations on the birth of your son."

  Bridget frowned and stared guiltily at her hands. “Don't congratulate me. I've brought something evil into the world."

  "I'm sorry you feel that way. I saw the baby in the viewing window. He's a cute little fellow.” She walked over to stand close to Bridget. She took her hand. “Why don't you and I and Tom take another peek now? Maybe, once you saw how handsome he is, you'll change your mind."

  Bridget withdrew her hand. “No. I don't want to look at the evil creature."

  "Perhaps if we meditated, your anxious feelings would be calmed. Come take my hand, both of you.” She held out one hand to Bridget and the other to Tom. The couple grasped her hands. “Now Tom, you hold Bridget's other hand to form a circle. Close your eyes and breath deeply. You too, Tom.” She began a singsong of what seemed to be nonsense words. When she finished, she asked Bridget, “How do you feel?"

  "Much better. Thank you. I'm not depressed or anxious or paranoid anymore."

  Although he did not say it, Tom too had a feeling of euphoria. The bad memories about Woodstock faded and seemed to be only dreams again.

  "Why don't you ask for your baby, now? Wouldn't you like to breast feed it?"

  Bridget smiled. “Yes, I would. I don't know why I had such bad feelings about my precious little Nicky.” She buzzed for the nurse.

  Before the staff brought the infant in to her, they sent in the psychiatrist. She sent Morgaine and Tom out of the room and asked her several questions. When she came out into the hallway, she said to Tom, “Your wife seems to be recovering from her depression. Sometimes these things pass as quickly and mysteriously as they start. Nonetheless, after she leaves the hospital I'd recommend therapy, at least for a few weeks."

  Tom nodded. “We'll do that.” He hoped his insurance would pay for it.

  "I'll have the nurse bring your baby in to your wife. Her attitude when she see him will tell us a lot.” He went to the nurse's station.

  As Morgaine started to return to Bridget's room, Tom held her back. “I want to thank you. I don't know what sort of magic you just did, but you cured Bridget."

  "It wasn't much. Simply a spell of forgetting. Some things are best forgotten."

  "Is there a price? Do you want anything from me?"

  Morgaine rubbed her chin. “Well ... you could do me a small favor."

  Here it comes, thought Tom. Her price will be high. “What's the favor?"

  "I'd appreciated if you'd take care of my cat, Mephistopheles, for a while. You see, I'm going on a trip, and you know how hard it is have a pet in a hotel."

  Tom was relieved. “That's it? You simply want to take your of your cat? For how long?"

  "I'm not sure. It could be quite awhile. If you're allergic to cats or th
ink it would be too much trouble..."

  Bridget had wanted a pet. Tom had been thinking of getting her a small dog, but a cat would be less work. She would have her hands full with the baby. “No trouble at all. We'd be glad to take care of your cat."

  "Thank you. I'll drop him off at your house."

  A few minutes after they returned to the hospital room, a nurse brought in the newborn and placed him in Bridget's arms. Bridget doted over him. “Oh, isn't he darling.” She turned to Tom. “Look, he's got a full head of hair already."

  It was true. The baby's head was covered with black curly hair. Tom had never before seen a newborn with such thick hair.

  When Tom returned home that evening, a white cat was waiting in the front of the apartment building where Bridget and he lived. He bent down to pet it. “Are you Mephistopheles?"

  A voice in his head said, “Yes, I am he."

  Tom blinked. I must be tired. I think a cat's talking to me. He unlocked the front door. The cat followed him up the stairs and into their apartment on the second floor.

  CHAPTER 4. VAMPIRES AND ROBOTS

  Mandy woke out of her faint with a start. She was laying on her bed at the abandoned mansion. In a chair next to her Frankenstein's monster, AKA Victor Legion, stared at her. She reached down for her knife. The sheath strapped to her ankle was empty. She let out a shriek.

  Legion raised his huge mitts. “Please Miss, don't be afraid. I wouldn't harm you for the world."

  This calmed her down a bit. She gazed into his face. It was ugly, but kindly in a way. “You were kidding me about being Frankenstein's monster. Trying to scare me is all. Well, you succeeded. I was damn frightened."

  Legion smiled. “But I really am the legendary creature. Nonetheless, I didn't mean to frighten you. It's just that you shouldn't be here."

  Mandy decided that the man really thought he was Frankenstein's monster. Perhaps because of his huge body and horrible looks, he believed what cruel persons called him. People have different ways of dealing with adversary. “Why shouldn't I be here? You're here. I don't think you're an invited guest."