Nothing conclusive had come of that night when the police received the anonymous tip and were converging on what they thought was the vigilante. Freshly slain corpses had been found inside, an avenue of ingress from a smashed window, but that was all. Therese is also not proud of breaking into Lilja’s apartment, and though it left her with a demanding slew of questions, she still lacks those answers. She now finds herself doing more she is not proud of, things for which she possesses the talent and skill.
It had taken some time, but it occurred to her to check the university’s library. Maybe Lilja had been working that evening. Her cyber-digging had resulted in finding something more interesting, for the library reported a break-in and possible vandalism and assault from students that very night. Coincidence? Records show that such acts do not come up often within that somewhat small and elite student body.
One thing, though, sprung out at her, and so now she sits on her motorcycle, waiting. She is not far from the gym, but far enough to hopefully avoid any undue notice. She is also not hiding. On the contrary, she is hoping to find someone. And there he is.
“Billy?”
The security guard looks over when his name is called. He finds the slender, punk-looking woman who has called his name. He peers with confusion, obviously not recognizing her, but he does walk over.
“I’m Therese. I’m a student in Lilja Perhonen’s self-defense class.”
“Oh.” Billy nods, still trying to figure this out.
“We talked once before, but it was a while back.”
“We …” Billy grins, a stunted chuckle escaping like an impatient breath. “We did?”
Therese smiles, an expression she generally finds alien. She hopes her unpracticed one doesn’t scare him off.
“Yeah. I was out here, after class, and you came over to make sure I was okay.”
“Oh, right, right,” he says, but Therese thinks he still doesn’t remember. He looks around, as though taking stock of their surroundings. “So, how are you? You didn’t just get out of a class, did you?”
“No,” she answers. “I am curious, though, about the school. I’m considering trying to become a formal student. I know it’s very expensive and all that, but I’ve saved up a good chunk. I wanted to ask you, since you’re a guard and in the know, is it pretty safe here?”
She notices how Billy gains more focus, nodding, looking quite serious, even showing a slight reaction to her mentioning of his inner knowledge. She’s manipulating him, and she is pleased to see it working.
“Oh, yeah, it’s very safe. The security here is top notch.”
She keeps her eyes on him, stilling giving that smile. She hopes she looks more like a potential victim than a criminal.
“Well, I’m pretty good with investigating information, it’s sort of my job, so I did a little digging just to look through reports of incidents and what not.”
Billy nods, seeming to take this in good stride. He actually holds one arm up, elbow resting in his hand, as he taps his lips with his bent index finger. Therese realizes how into it he is, so she decides to dare.
“I read about something that happened at the library a few months back. Some kids, maybe, students, broke in and vandalized the place and even assaulted some security guards?”
“I was there!” Billy exuberantly declares.
Therese, of course, knew he was, having found his name in the reports and realizing the potential angle she might pursue.
“Wow.” She blinks, letting her grin grow. “So, what happened?”
“Oh, it was nothing.” He presses his lips together, shaking his head. “Some kids got in after hours and were messing with us. They knocked over some books then made some noise, trying to scare us. It was silly.”
“That’s it? What about the assault?”
“Well,” Billy begins, hesitant, “yeah. One of them got me. Well, they got both of us. We saw a guy, but he was a distraction, then they got us. They might have used gas.”
“Gas?” she replies, knowing how silly that sounds. She figures he must be saying this to excuse what he feels is a personal failing.
“Yeah.” Billy nods, seeming very casual in the face of Therese’s incredulity. “They’re just kids, you know? But they’re really smart.”
“Were they ever caught?”
“Nah.” And again comes the casual expression.
“That’s where Miss Perhonen works, right?”
“Oh, yeah. Yeah.”
“Was she there?” she asks, giving a stretch to her eyes to convey concern.
“No. If she had been …” Billy’s voice trails off, a smirk taking his lips.
“What?” Therese presses.
“Oh, well, you take her class. Can you imagine? Those poor students would have been in serious trouble.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Therese manages to reply, but she is just as quickly lost in thought. “So, there are some pretty valuable books in the library, right?”
“Well, yes, there are.” Billy looks at her, and Therese finally sees something she thought would be immediate in the guard – suspicion.
“You don’t think, maybe, someone broke in to try to steal something valuable and then knocked you out and fled when you found them?”
Billy turns his lips down, giving a sort of shrug. “Not really. I guess it’s possible, but the really valuable stuff is kept in its own room, and that was never broken into.”
Therese nods. “Separate security there. That’s smart.”
“Not our thing,” Billy explains. “The library has that set up on its own, and it even has outside monitoring.”
“Wow. There must be some really important books in there.”
“You have no idea.”
*****
The sound reports with a dull thud, quickly followed by another, then again. It changes, still a solid hit but flatter, sharper. The others arise again, faster, and the punctuating grunts can now be heard. There comes the slight jangle of the thick chains. All of it like a crescendo that will not break, but it does eventually stop.
She stands there, catching her breath, the sheen of sweat evident.
“Your technique is very good.”
Her eyes slip over, not darting as might those of prey.
“I thought I was alone,” Lilja remarks.
“I’m not trying to disturb you,” the woman says.
Lilja just looks, then she goes to remove the wrap from her hands. She cringes inwardly as the material peels forth from her bruised and bloodied flesh.
“Oh my,” the observer states, “you sure are serious.”
Lilja glances up again. She doesn’t feel like engaging in conversation. All she wants to do now is go have a long, hot shower.
“I must be bothering you.”
The redhead grabs a towel, dabbing at her face and neck.
“You teach, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
The other woman gives a smile, whether from the answer or just getting Lilja to respond is unknown.
“Everyone could benefit from learning.”
Lilja agrees, but she says nothing. She stands, firmly, facing the visitor, exuding an aura of wanting to leave.
“I find that one mistake too many people make in life is thinking they are done … or just letting it happen. Even if we learned all we could in one lifetime, we’d barely scratch the surface of what all is out there.”
Lilja sets her piercing blue eyes on the stranger, wondering more why these things are being said than who the person is. She feels a vague hint of suspicion, a whisper of discomfort. She studies the woman with more intent, her brow furrowing. Her deepening line of thought is interrupted.
“Are you accepting new students?”
“Not at this time.”
“A pity. I am sure there are many who could benefit from your instruction, but there is only so much one person may do.”
“I’m very busy.”
“Of course, you are.” The woman p
ulls back from the conversation, giving one polite dip of her head.
Lilja takes the looked-for cue and goes to have her shower.
Chapter Three
“Thank you both for coming.”
Gaspare Duilio follows Denman Malkuth into the dimly-lit chamber. The place bears all the trappings of what Duilio would consider a charlatan’s take on fortune telling. There is a tall bookcase populated with worn tomes and curious objects, dust and cobwebs in a meaningful array. The condition displays a deliberate attempt, more like a movie set than any true sign of neglect. The art on the walls paints more of the same picture. The woman receiving them forwards herself as some ‘Madame Blutasky’, an obvious play on Helena Blavatsky of occult fame. Whatever faux accent the woman might thickly lay on for other clients, she has abandoned for this engagement.
Denman takes one of two chairs at the small, circular table, interrupting the woman as she goes to find another for Duilio. He gives a short, sure shake of his head then an undeniable gesture with his hand for her to sit.
“What have you found?”
She glances briefly to Duilio, unfamiliar with him, but the air of command from the Malkuth suffers no lack of intensity despite the man’s grin. She spares a short moment, seeming to collect herself and perhaps also her courage.
“It’s the City,” she begins, somewhat hesitantly, “the gateway, the attacks, the sacrifices. There is a great deal of power there. It has been chosen.”
“For what?” Denman asks, and Duilio hears the hint of impatience.
“I-I don’t know,” the woman responds, eyes again searching over her guests as though imploring of a reprieve.
Denman bores into her with his eyes, the light, congenial curve still to his lips. He waves his hand casually as bid for her to continue.
“It is all so strong; I can easily feel it here.”
“Still?”
“Yes!” She is eager to finally give a solid answer. “It has fluctuated, of course, but it has never completely gone away.”
“What do you sense?”
“It’s … it’s not entirely clear, but …”
Silence descends. The two men watch. Denman finally pierces the stillness. “But?”
“The vibrancy is almost blinding. It’s not colors, but a light. It’s difficult for me to see it, like staring into the sun.”
Duilio furrows his brow, lost, wondering how any of this makes sense, wondering even why they are here.
“Yes, but it is not the sun. You see something.”
She nods. “I do, yes. There is something beneath the light.”
“What is it?” Denman asks after another short wait.
“A shadow.”
He rises from the chair, the sound of the legs scooting back over the wood floor like an intruding scrape. The other two watch as he takes a few meandering steps away from the table. He then looks back at the fortune teller, eyebrows rising. She returns the gaze with a questioning one of her own. Duilio senses the underlying simmer of fear.
“What is casting the shadow?”
“I don’t know,” she quickly answers. “The light is too bright.”
“You said the power fluctuates, and I presume that means it has waned since the failed attacks. Was it blindingly bright before, and now is only somewhat blinding?”
The woman blinks. She glances again to Duilio then back to Denman. Duilio knows how intimidating the Malkuths may be. He sometimes wonders how he maintains his own sense of calm in not only being employed by them but also with the continually growing knowledge of the demonic threat hungry to consume humanity. He supposes it is a defense mechanism to keep from going insane or suicidal.
“I …” she tries, sitting up a bit as her spine stiffens. “I can … tell that there are changes, but it’s still insubstantial in the details.”
“That sort of …” Denman speaks, waving a hand casually, “shit may work on your customers, but I need more.”
“This is not a con,” the woman says, and Duilio continues to sense the pleading nature.
What have the Malkuths done to you, he wonders. Sympathy creeps in. He begins to think he might pay the woman a visit once this is done.
“Oh, I don’t think it is,” Denman replies, his charming smile doing nothing to placate the tension. He moves back over to the woman, standing behind her now, placing his hands on her shoulders. “I need you to really think about this. I know it isn’t easy, but I need more.”
She gives a hesitant nod, taking in some breaths, trying to calm herself.
“There is a force.” She finds some words. “It’s also difficult to see, difficult to separate from the others.”
“Something of the Infernal?”
“I … I can’t be sure. It seems in opposition to it, but it’s difficult to separate.”
Denman pats the woman’s shoulder, leaning down to whisper, “You said that already. What else?”
“It was also drawn there … to the City.”
“Why?”
“I …” she begins, but her voice is cut off as Denman squeezes those shoulders, an unspoken warning to voicing ignorance. “There is fear and strength. A drive to hide and be in the thick of it, trying to help.”
Duilio watches as Denman alters the pressure of his hands, as though now milking the woman for information.
“It’s there, right in the heart, right in the light.”
“Perhaps it is casting the shadow?” Denman leads.
The woman looks at him, nodding, eagerly. “Yes, yes, that must be it!”
“What stands at the place of power, the place of danger?”
“A guardian.”
Both look at Duilio as he speaks the word. The woman looks enraptured, as though hypnotized by this answer. Denman merely studies the man, his eyes drilling into those of the former Interpol inspector. Still holding that gaze, he speaks to the woman. “Is that it? A protecting force?”
“Yes.” She nods, again eager to latch onto answers, all in hope of assuaging the Malkuth and getting closer to his departure.
“But you said you could not easily discern details, that you were not even sure if this power was not of the Infernal.”
“It’s all so muddy. I want to see. I want to know, but this power is … shadowy.”
“I thought it was casting the shadow.”
“I … it is! But … but. It is casting the shadow. It is very strong.”
Silence descends. Denman stands there, ruminating. Duilio notices the woman is staring intently at him, perhaps hoping for some assistance. He has none to offer. He is still unclear why he was even brought along to this. Unable to maintain the interchange, he looks away.
His eye is caught by more of the enigmatic knickknacks, an arrangement on a small shelf hanging in one corner of the room. He looks at some others. He feels certain there are secrets here amidst the foppery. Perhaps he will ask her about that if he comes back. Such thoughts running through his head, he looks over just in time to see Denman produce something dark and glassy from his coat, an obsidian dagger, and he smoothly drags it across the woman’s neck.
Duilio cringes in shock and sympathy as Denman casually steps away. The fortune teller’s eyes have gone wide, a trembling quake to her body. She swallows. It as if she does not realize her throat has been opened, her rich blood leaking and spurting free with the insistent pounding of her heart. A few more stunted gasps and grunts emerge, the sounds sickeningly wet, and she collapses onto the table.
“Why did you do that?” Duilio demands, his voice a hissing whisper.
Denman moves closer. “I owe you no explanation.” The response is not a challenge, not laden with any threat, merely uttered with the same casual confidence and disregard he generally shows. He pauses, though, on his way past Duilio and to the exit. “If you were more astute, you’d know.”
Anger effuses from Duilio. He does not even realize how much had been brewing throughout this engagement. He tenses, stepping closer to his empl
oyer. Denman looks him over, slightly surprised.
“She was talking about the guardian. You figured that out.”
“And?”
“It’s the librarian, Lilja Perhonen. She’s casting the shadow.”
“Who is Lilja Perhonen?”
“Someone more dangerous than I realized.”
*****
Scholomance, a place steeped in folklore and rumor. A place of the sort of renown that hides beneath scarce shadows in deeply recessed areas. Most have not heard of it, or their knowledge is incorrect, held in the grip of misinformation or popular culture.
It is said that Merlin studied there before gaining his strength and wisdom and becoming companion and advisor to King Arthur. It is also said that the school would impart deep secrets and great abilities, but all at a steep price. Each class of ten would sacrifice its lowest graduating student to Lucifer. Some sources say the number was thirteen, but there was always the single offering as payment.
The others would go on to become powerful practitioners, even rumored to ride on fire-breathing dragons, making themselves into great masters or the elite support thereof. The dragon’s breath is a thing known to those familiar with Merlin. Some say Dracula studied there, and the link between dragons and that infamous name is undeniable.
Was it ever real? And if so, where was it located?
Some sources say Spain, others say Romania, still others, Russia.
John Dee sought it, but with a man of his proclivities, one may not always be sure of the literal nature of his journals and writings. This fog of conjecture sometimes claims he even attended the school, but by all accounts, it was no longer intact by the time of the Elizabethan man’s days.
It is known that Dee traveled to Central Europe later in his life, accompanied by Edward Kelley. During these travels, he spent time in the courts of Krakow and Prague. Being a serious man of letters and the preservation of knowledge, Dee also promoted cartography, commissioning maps of his journeys.
“Assuming he found the school, is there a map?” Skothiam asks.
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