A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, December 1949 — page 56: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ES ot ne . — = fang ag and the Demoiselle de Keradel danced a _____witches’ dance, passing in and out of each _ other, shifting from one to another—like the girls in the “Heart’s Desire.” Time had passed between the moment _ Of awakening and the moment when the _ death cry of Ys had smitten me in my _ flight over the sands. I knew that. But whether it had been minutes or millenni- ums I did not know. And other things had happened which I did not Jike remem- bering. I opened my eyes. I had thought that I _ had been lying on a soft bed. I was not. I was standing fully dressed beside a win- dow in a room of dim rosy light; a room - like a turret .. . with octagonal walls cov- ered by sea-green tapestries in which fur- tive shadows moved. And suddenly that other self became alert, and I heard a far off clamor of waves racing toward me... I turned my head quickly and looked out of the window. There was no stormy sea, no spuming combers beating upon great walls. I looked down upon bridge- bound East River and the lights of New York; looked and fed upon them, drawing strength and sanity from them. Slowly I turned from the window. Da- hut was asleep, and in her sleep she smiled. No shadowy hands held her. Around _ her wrist was the bracelet and the black stone was like an unwinking eye, watching me. I wondered whether her eyes under the long curling lashes were also watch- ing me. Her breath rose and fell, like the slow lift and fall of waves in a slumbering sea. Her mouth, with the kiss of the archaic upon her lips, was peaceful. She was like a soul of the sea over which tem- pest had passed, leaving it sleeping. She was very lovely .. . and there was desire for her in my heart, and there was fear of her. I took a step toward her . . . to kill her now while she lay asleep and help- less . . . to set my hands around her throat and choke the black life out of the white witch . . . to kill her, ruthlessly, as she Se ae — + , a» Oe a a a “= ee eee eer eeeeeeeeeee ee ee _ the memories were vivid and he was as _ strong as they ; he was entrenched among _ them and he would live as long as they _ lived; waiting his chance. I was as spent as though that fight had been physical; and in my mind the Lord of Caranac and _ Alan Caranac and Dahut of ancient Ys had killed . . . to end this witchery. I could not do that. Nor could I awaken her. The fear of her stood like a barrier against awakening. The desire for her stood like another barrier against the urge to slay her. I drew back, through the win- dow and out upon the terrace. I waited there for a moment, consider- ing, watching Dahut’s chamber for an movement. Witchcraft might be supersti- tion—but what Dahut had twice done to me measured up fully to any definition of . it. And I thought of what had happened to Dick—and of her calm confession about that. She had told the truth there, whether she had brought his death about by sug- gestion or by actual shadow. My own ex- periences had been too similar to doubt that. She had killed Dick Ralston, and those other three. And how many more only she knew. I gave up any idea of slinking through her turret and trying to find the hidden door to the great room from whence had come the shadowy singing. Maybe the shadows wouldn’t be as helpful as they ~ had been back in ancient Ys. Also, there was the antechamber of the elevators. The truth was that the cold fear I felt of the Demoiselle seemed to paralyze all trust in myself. I was too vulnerable to her on her own picked field. And if I killed her, what possible reason could I offer? Ralston’s death, shadows, witch- craft? The best I could expect was the madhouse. How could I prove such ab- surdities? And if I awakened her and demanded release—well, I couldn’t see that working either. New York and an- cient Ys were still too close together in my mind—and something whispered that the way I had taken in Ys was still the best way. And that was to go while she slept. I walked to the edge of the terrace and looked over its coping. The next terrace was twenty feet below. I didn’t dare risk the drop. I examined the wall. It had bricks jutting out here and there that I thought I could manage. I took off my shoes and hung them around my neck by the laces. I slid over the coping and with an occasional slip or two I landed on the lower terrace. Its windows were open and there was the sound of heavy sleeping from within. A clock rang two and the breath- | larly formidable wom- = ing stopped. A singu Comic! ¢ l « - - e 7 7 bs » i i¢ J Py . JPR EPO RI SAM STORIE ED 2 Os SPENT CTL LOR A TRG POR eS, DR PRE ON Le eee eT toe Ae