by Nathan Parks
“Why did you want Chad and Serenity to take me and just dump me, though?” She walked up and sat on the windowsill beside which Leah was standing. She felt the cold glass through her shirt and enjoyed the contrast to the warmth of her body. “If it was because you hate people, what did I do to you? I have never met you.”
“I don’t know, Tori.”
“Is it because of Legion?”
Leah wanted to say that it was and, of course, that was the reason she used originally; however, if she was honest, she knew that it had nothing to do with the young girl’s possessor. It was about Eve; and yes, it was even about herself.
“I think it was because I knew I was just done with everything—done with fighting; done with filling my role; done with trying to just be the one who sweeps in each time to make things better. I didn’t want to admit that I have failed and didn’t want to take the chance of failing again.”
“So, who asked you to be that person?”
“What?”
“Who asked you? I didn’t ask you to come in and fix me or my situation. Did anyone else?”
“You were lying in my medical room of my building!”
“Was I? I mean, there weren’t other people that work there or reside there?”
“I’m not following.”
“Probably because you are old and stuff.” She laughed while Leah just rolled her eyes. “My point is that there is not one single person in this world or universe that can handle everything, for everyone, by themselves. When my home life sucked, I couldn’t change it. I lived there, and it affected me; but I couldn’t change it. When my boyfriend dumped me, I couldn’t bring the prick back. Nope, I had to call a girlfriend to talk me off the proverbial ledge. I had to rely on my friends for a place to stay and encourage me when my life just sucked. I didn’t rely on just one friend! Come on! Even on my social media apps, I make sure I have lots of people to hit up, because we are not about a solo act. It takes the whole cast of your life to bring about that life and to write the screenplay.”
Leah tried to follow the young teenager’s logic; and the more she talked—even though confusing—it seemed to make sense.
“I mean, I don’t know why I am here. I don’t know why I got the demonic lord of the universe tapped into my chakra or whatever. I have no clue why Serenity and Chad chose to not just drop me off and forget about me. Doesn’t matter, right? I mean we all still end up in the same place: here. Why? Eh, who knows? But I do know that there is not even one of us that has it all down.
“My grandpa on my mom’s side once told me that a bow with a string is just a stick, and a stick with a string is a bow. But without the arrow, you will still go hungry.”
Leah sat down beside her. “You know, that is some pretty deep stuff there.”
Tori looked at her and smirked. “Yep, and they don’t teach you that in some damn hospital.”
Leah laughed. “Touché.”
◆◆◆
She sat, surrounded by antiquities, a library of manuscripts, melted candles, and one stupid cat. She was fairly sure there were no more tears to pour over her eyelids and down her cheeks.
Tanisha had awakened that morning full of energy, excited to see an old friend and start helping him decode and translate whatever it was for which he needed her. Hours later, she was alone, broken-hearted at the news that her friend had passed away inside the foyer of the church; and now she was feeling lost. “I don’t even know where to begin! Why? Why now?”
She looked around her at the mounds of information. Would she even be able to find what he had sent her photos of? She had already looked around his desk, and nothing looked even close.
She got up, felt badly that she kicked the cat, and walked out of the study. She walked over to the crypt of Briccius. If she could have her way, Gerault would have a crypt right beside this one; but of course, no one was about to put her in charge.
“If the legends are true, I could only imagine the burden that you felt, Briccius, as you made your way here! I don’t know if the legends of the vial of blood are true; but if not, I am sure you thought what you carried was truly a holy gift! I cannot imagine carrying a burden so heavy, so secret, and so precious . . . a secret that is unable to be shared with anyone and the burden almost too much for one man to bear!”
She thought of her husband and how through the ages he had kept such a secret; and even now, she wondered if new information would knock him into further self-exile. She loved him. She loved him more than she realized that one person could love another, and yet even in that love there was a chasm that seemed too much for love to cross.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps echoing above her. Someone must have come into the auditorium. She bent and kissed the crypt and headed up the stairs.
As she reached the top of the stairway, she opened the door that led into the front of the auditorium. She saw a man in his early 60s standing toward the back. He was dressed in a long, gray, wool coat with buttons down the front. He wore a fedora on his head, and tucked neatly under his left arm was a leather satchel that seemed to be stuffed with papers or a large book . . . she couldn’t tell.
“May I help you, Sir?”
He took his hat off and held it in one hand as he extended his right hand out to her as she walked toward him. “Well, I hope that you can.”
“Not sure if I can. I am new here, and . . .”
“Yes, and Gerault sadly was taken from us a few days ago.”
She looked at him inquisitively. “Did you know him? Were you a friend of his?”
“Yes, and yes, I believe would be the proper answers to those questions.”
“So, then what could I help you with?”
“Well, I guess the first proper thing to do, Tanisha, is to introduce myself.”
She was taken aback. “Wait . . . how do you know my name?”
“There is a great deal that I know; but your name . . . well, I took a gamble. Our mutual friend expressed to me that you were coming; and since, sadly, he is unable to no longer keep you company, I have taken it upon myself to do so.”
“Were you helping him?”
The man smiled for a moment as he placed his satchel down in one of the pews. He unbuttoned his coat and proceeded to hang it and his hat inside the closet to his left. He then sat down on one of the church pews.
“Yes . . . yes, you could say that.”
She waited, realizing that he had not actually gotten around to telling her his name.
“My name is Enoch, and I have known Gerault for a long time.”
She tried to think back to a time where their friend may have mentioned Enoch; but if he had, it seemed to escape her memory right now. Of course, she wasn’t surprised: she was sure he had known so many people with all his traveling.
“I haven’t been able to find out much about what happened to him,” she stated.
“From my understanding, he passed away quietly right over there.” He pointed to the bench near the front entrance. “I had spoken to him that evening, so it had to be later in the night.”
Her gaze fell on the bench. She could picture him sitting there as if waiting for a longtime friend to stop by and talk. “He probably was getting ready for his evening walk. He was religious about that!”
Enoch nodded. “Yes, I know.”
He reached over and unbuckled the strap on his satchel. He carefully pulled out a leather-bound journal that was filled with a lot of loose pieces of paper. “I believe these are for you, Dear. It was the last thing he had been working on; and it is what he was working on when he contacted you, to the best of my knowledge.”
She took them from him and began to sift through the pages. “Yes, these do look like what he had sent me photos of.”
“So, you are familiar with them?”
“Only from the photos and emails he sent me. He didn’t go into much detail. He just stated that he thought he had uncovered a pretty big historical find but needed some fre
sh eyes and some help with some translations.”
“So, is that your expertise?”
She nodded, “It is.”
Things were quiet for a moment as she found herself immersing herself in the paperwork. Her visitor coughed a little bit to catch her attention. “Would you mind if I stopped by . . . maybe tomorrow . . . to see what you come up with? His work always interested me.”
“No, not at all! It also would be great to have another face around . . . other than the cat, that is,” she laughed. “I’m still dealing with the news of his death, and sitting here without really knowing anyone makes it feel even sadder.”
He pointed to her wedding ring. “Did your husband travel with you?”
“No. I wish now he had. It would be nice to have him here. He has a way of bringing comfort like no one else.”
“That is good! It is good to have someone like that . . . someone you can trust and grow old with.”
“Are you married?” she inquired. She could not see a ring, but she didn’t want to be rude.
“I am not. I guess you can say that I have been married to my work for too long to even entertain the thought.”
“Now, that is sad. Finding someone to embrace your passions makes things so much better!”
“I have had a love in my life before, but sometimes things are not meant to be. Well, that or you get burned really badly . . . badly enough to know you never want to feel that again.”
“Ah . . . I see,” she stated. “I have been there.”
He ran his fingers through his thinning gray hair and stood. “Well, it was nice meeting you in person, Tanisha. I need to get going, but I will stop by tomorrow.”
“Thank you so much. I was afraid I wouldn’t know where to begin. I will see you tomorrow.”
He retrieved his coat and hat from the closet. “Take care, and we will talk again.” With that, he walked out the door, leaving her once again with only the cat.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Hecate’s fingers ran through the fur upon one of the heads of her pet, while the other head of the animal looked about in ever-constant alertness. She was fuming inside from the news that Mantus had met with Michael. She could only hope that nothing had come from their face-to-face. She also was gloating in her profound move to call a gathering. Her hope was that it would set Mantus back on his heels, and that way maybe he would just give up and settle in for the ride. He didn’t have to join her; but for sure, he better not try to stop her.
The room was silent, and not a single individual stirred. If one closed their eyes, it could be easily believed that the room was empty . . . but that was the furthest thing from the truth. She had called out, and she knew that none would resist her. Even though each House was strong in its own right and, most likely, there was not a single Clan that held the upper hand, she did hold the charm. That was hard for them to resist.
She had enticed each of the warring leaders to join her. She held the power, their counsel; and right now, they were sitting in her realm. She understood how to balance the power. That was the beauty of being a seductress: use the needs of your opponent to control in a way that they give up themselves willingly.
The room was full! Clans of Ancient origin, who for ages had refused to acknowledge any of the New Generation Clans and their ways, had shown up tonight. Seats of the Ancient blended, she believed, for the first time with the Houses of New Generations.
Rules of the Ancient and New Generations had fallen to the side over the last two years with the warring of the Houses. All ceremonious rituals had been forsaken, and it had become every Clan for themselves. She knew that attempting to convince them to join once again—and some for the first time—as a unified force would be nearly impossible.
To her right sat one of the original Overlords, Elisheth Zenunim. Hecate believed that most of the Overlords present today may have never laid eyes upon him. He had refused to grow as the Clans grew but, instead, adopted new rules and organization standards on how many Clans there were to be and how new Overlords were chosen. His Clan had chosen to grow their evil and havoc outside the norm and constriction of the rest.
They were the last Clan to have joined into the Clan Wars. Drawn into the merciless slaying of over a hundred of his Clan, Elisheth rose up out of fury; and soon all the Clans knew that one of the few Ancients who still had a Clan was now a force with which to be feared and reckoned.
He sat in silence. He hated the young blood that had risen up, and he could taste the immature stupidity that puffed up around him. “Cough it up, Witch!” Adramelech spat. Surrounded by his Darkins, he looked almost as diabolical as Lucifer himself. This was the first time he had come out of seclusion since the fighting amongst the Clans had begun. He had spent the last two years orchestrating the growth and attacks of his House. He was darker and viler than Hecate had ever remembered him before.
She loved the look of seething anger he had shown as Arioch had entered the meeting room with his entourage. Arioch had noted it, also, and smirked. His Clan had risen in numbers quicker than anyone had expected. No one knew whether it was because Arioch had them waiting in the wing the whole time or if his influence and smooth swagger drew in the younger crowd who were hungry for the darkness that they did not understand.
Hecate had noticed that Arioch was flanked by his two lieutenants: Crow Shadowfire and Lestra. The addition of these two had brought new blood into his Clan. Crow Shadowfire had been a religious leader of a cult that had thousands of followers. Lestra was a High Priestess of Wiccan. He was the one Overlord who had no Darkins; he never had trusted the order of Darkins. He felt many worked for their own good, somewhat as if it was their own personal Clan.
She did not respond right away to Adramelech’s order. She knew that he was pushing and was attempting to flex his muscles, but she wouldn’t have any of that.
There were still a few seats vacant at the table. This table had been hand carved from one solid piece of blood red quartz and held around the edges many intricate, ritualistic designs, knotwork, and carvings unknown to mortals. It was her table of power.
“In due time, Melech.” She stated the Hebrew name with detest and sarcasm, her eyes daring him to provoke her. She knew that he was aware he was the weakest within her lair; he was outnumbered here. “We still have empty seats, and I must be sure that all are represented here. If we do not, then our meeting is futile.”
Arioch looked around as he took his seat. He questioned within himself, “For whom are the extra chairs?” He could feel a small pressure within his head, and he turned his head slightly to look in the direction of Hecate. He was not disappointed: she was looking straight at him. He knew she was attempting to draw out of him what he was thinking, but he had never given himself over to her; thus, she had no power there. He looked at her and slightly shook his head. She just smiled and poured herself a drink from the dark bottle that was to her right.
The noise of the large, wooden doors opening drew her attention from what she was doing to the left side of the room. The expression upon her face remained the same, but inside she was laughing: they all had answered the beckoning of her call. She had more control over them than they realized . . . either that or they were just all that confident in their own strength. Either way, she would use it to her advantage.
Hecate may have been able to keep her composure, but that was not to be said about the rest of the room. Overlords, Darkins, and Clan members alike began a large commotion as several figures walked into the room, stopping just enough inside as to allow the doors to close behind them.
“NEPHELIUM?” angered voices, dripping with distaste, echoed around the room. Darkins reached for their individual weapons and moved to stand closer to their Overlords. Arioch and Adramelech each clinched their jaws and stared hard in the direction of Hecate. Elisheth spat onto the floor as he uttered a curse.
“I demand to know what this is about!” Adramelech slammed his fist down on the flat surface of the table. �
��What are you doing, you whore? Have you aligned the House of Hecate with the outcast in order to destroy the rest of us? It is antics like this that started us fighting each other to begin with!”
Kadar stood solemnly, not flinching or even muttering a single word. He had three other Nephelium standing about him. None of their weapons were visible, but then the weapons of an assassin are never visible until it was too late. He had not been too certain about this meeting when he had received Hecate’s invitation, but how ironic it seemed that everyone was as much in the dark as he. Nonetheless, with Adramelech’s protest, he had just given power to the Nephelium. The others thought this was a setup by Hecate. That meant they were just as clueless as he but didn’t know it. Oh, how he loved this!
“Evening, Mistress of Shadows, Mother of Magik,” Kadar spoke with much eloquence as he nodded his head in Hecate’s direction. “Please accept my apologies for being late.”
