by JM Bannon
“And this is Crosby Welch,” stated the woman as she continued to introduce the party.
“It is an honor to meet you, Guild Master,” replied Crosby.
“The honor is mine, Mr. Welch.” Gerard had no idea who Crosby was. He was likely a high-ranking and talented Lodge member but of no consequence to the spiritual sciences.
“Let me just say how honored we are to have you, and while our terrestrial abode may be lacking style and substance, I am certain you will be impressed with our meeting hall,” promised Lord Oswald.
“Shall we begin?” queried Madame Blatavsky.
Each of the attendees took off their shoes and stockings then stepped into the pool. All the attendees took a seat around the table, keeping their feet immersed in the water. The séance members grasped the silver chain in each hand to complete a circle of enchantment and began reciting the incantation.
Gerard closed his eyes and wriggled his toes in the ankle-high fluid. He could feel the electrolytes and tinctures in the water that would assist the group in conducting their spirits via astral projection to the locus amulet submerged in the pool. A slight smile crossed his face, enjoying the indulging benefits of the soothing foot bath for his tired feet. He then put his full attention to the incantation and let go of the terrestrial plane.
When he opened his mind’s eye, the group had projected to an aetheris sanctuarii, a trans-dimensional sanctuary constructed by the Lodge for clandestine meetings. In contrast to the wretched townhouse in London, the Lodge members had conjured a fantastic spacious crystal dome with a white marble floor. It rivaled Joseph Paxton’s Crystal Palace in Sydenham Hill, not in size but in complexity and beauty. Gerard was impressed with the faction’s ability to project and sustain the construct in his mind. The crystal panes were fitted into a giant wrought iron frame, allowing those inside to look out into the astral plane where they had anchored the sanctuary, a floating aether observatory.
“Welcome. We can all speak freely here,” encouraged Madame Blatavsky.
Gerard walked across the space to observe its construction as well as to show the Lodge members of his ability to move freely in his astral form. He peered out the crystal dome and saw the infinite expanse of the multiverse and the ever-changing nexus of the energy channels. It was like turning over a tapestry to see the warp and weave of its construction. You could still make out the coarse image of reality on the other side, and you could clearly see how reality was woven together. It was wonderful and humbling to view. “This is an impressive construct,” commented Gerard. “I have asked for your help, Lord Oswald, to locate and capture a practitioner of metaphysics who is engaging in unsanctioned dark arts.”
“A Haitian Witch,” said Seer Moreau.
Gerard looked at him with a dismissive look. Gerard hated overt zealotry, and he couldn’t hold the kind of animosity towards Angelica that Moreau did. His heart held admiration, respect and love for the woman. He thought, don’t be overconfident, brother. “My guild’s strength in London is limited. We seek powerful allies to help protect civilization and extend knowledge beyond the mortal realm. It is obvious from this construct that our choice in the Lodge was a wise one.”
Gerard thought about what he had learned from the detective. Angelica was now strong enough to strip souls. She had done it twice in London. She either had an entourage to help her, or she had surpassed her master and could perform Pwen Hanaan as a solo practitioner. Either way, his group would be punching out of their spiritual weight class. Furthermore, she could maintain a controlling psychic connection for some distance and force the subjects to cross strong moral barriers, suggesting his group would be outclassed. Gerard knew he must devise and implement a strategic plan.
“I will leave Seer Moreau with you to scrye the location of Angelica du Haiti. Seer Thomas and one of your Lodge members will assist me in confronting Angelica. Once the scrying team deduces the location, the Seer will project it to me. Only then will we act,” implored Gerard.
The guild master’s plan was to split the group, with the stationary séance concentrating on divining the whereabouts of the enchantress. The second group would be mobile, and the necronists would connect telepathically across the aether, guiding them to the location.
Being physically closer to Angelica would leave her little time to escape from Gerard, if she detected the psychic search. The mobile group would be less noticeable to Angelica’s psychic detection as they would be passively connected to the group that was actively seeking her location. The group understood the plan without speaking further as they all became mentally linked and the eldritch bonds of the séance strengthened.
The cluster uttered the incantation, “Inde aethere nunc revertetur ad terram santuary” The invocation returned the members to Earth and their places around the table. Gerard, Thomas and Lord Oswald each took two silver necklaces, wrapping one around the binding chain on the table and then placing an identical necklace around their own necks. The next step to binding the séance table to the hunting party would require the hunters to submerge an alabaster vial in the pool at their feet. Once full of water and the lids secured, the small vials were then attached to the silver chain around their necks.
Lord Oswald was the first to step from the pool after returning to the terrestrial plane. Guild Master Saint-Yves followed and then finally Seer Thomas. The Trio dried their feet, donned footwear and ascended upstairs out onto the street. The three ran to the waiting steam carriage as a torrential downpour began.
* * *
9:30 PM, Silkwood & Company
Jimmy stood alone in the recessed doorway of one of the shops. He breathed deeply to take in the scent of fresh rain. There was a short time after a good downpour in London that cleansed the air and freshened the city. He watched the rooftop horizon, looking for one of his triad brethren as he made his way to the furnace exhaust for that building. The furnace was churning so hard he could pick it out from the street by its large plume and the size of the pipe in comparison to the smaller heating chimneys hooked to coal stoves of homes and offices in the housing block.
On Thursday, Jimmy sent a triad affiliate, a regular at Silkwood & Company, to retrieve prices to recut stones from Simon. The real purpose was to confirm that they were working the smelter flat strap. As a bonus, his scout spied several packing crates from Venice lined up along the back of the cramped shop, validating that this was the gold he was looking for.
Jimmy observed the silhouette of his man against the moonlight as he knocked the cap off the exhaust pipe then stuffed a wooden plug into the pipe, giving it a good wallop with a mallet. As his man eased his way down, Jimmy looked at his pocket watch. Now he just needed to wait.
There was only one way in or out of that shop: through a large iron and oak door.
* * *
9:40 PM, the streets of London
In the back of the steam carriage, Gerard Saint-Yves sat in silent meditation, his back to the driver and the passenger partition open to allow the driver to hear the directions recited by the guild master. Oswald and Thomas contemplated in solitude, encouraging Gerard to concentrate. Each held awe of his ability to maintain a spiritual connection to the séance at such a distance and in a moving vehicle. Both had lost the connection miles ago.
Yet, in his mind’s eye, the guild master and those at the séance were detached spirits floating over the city of London looking down for hot spots of arcane power. Seer Moreau and Saint-Yves hovered while Blatavsky and Welsh swooped over the city in astral form, searching for sites of intense arcane energy. Moreau acted as conduit to Gerard, feeding him the collective’s results as it taxed both of their capacity to hold true the link.
Gerard watched as the astral forms flitted across the skyline, invisible to the human eye. When a street or building looked promising, Madame Blatavsky or Crosby Welsh would swoop down to inspect the location further. It was Crosby who spotted the house first and began to move toward it as he closed in. Gerard spoke, “Go acros
s the river. Make haste.”
The entire astral network sensed he had found a powerful locus of arcana. Madame Blatavsky stopped searching and altered her path towards the location. Crosby continued to investigate, having reformed his spectral essence in the middle of the street just as a horse-drawn handy passed. The horse brayed as it passed through his spirit form.
Gerard pleaded, Get me the address. His thoughts passed through the network to Crosby. He looked for landmarks and signs. Pilton Street, the 400 block, trickled back through the aether, bouncing up and down the spiritual network.
Crosby’s projection looked down the street and saw a woman with short black hair in a long grey and red coat, observing the same address. As he began to move toward the dwelling, his ethereal form confidently marched closer to see who was the resident.
Gerard snapped out of his trance eyes, wide open with a gasp as if he had nearly suffocated. “Driver, get to 412 Pilton Road as fast as you can.”
* * *
9:50 PM, Silkwood and Company
The steam lorry was stoked and ready to engage. It was parked facing away from the shop and perpendicular to the street Silkwood was located on. Jimmy approached the truck, pushing aside the canvas curtain covering the back end and jumped in together with the three other men. He quickly looked back between the canvas storage cover to confirm his man from the roof snuffed the gas lamps on the street to darken both roads.
They all waited for the Silkwood door to open. Still nothing. "What are these guys, fish? Don’t they need air?" said Rooftop in Mandarin.
"Aww, fuck me dead,” said Jimmy.
Rooftop and the others tried to push. “Get back, you cow cuds. It’s a fucking copper,” he whispered.
A single officer was strolling his beat. He walked leisurely down the cobble stone avenue, peering in shop windows. All the jewelers cleared inventory from the windows into strong boxes overnight so there was nothing to see. He looked closely to observe movement, like people in the shops that shouldn’t be.
Jimmy turned to his crew. “If the copper gets in the way, don't kill him. Put a bag over his head and kick him in the pollywogs so he stays down.”
They all nodded.
The bobby stopped and noticed that a street lamp was out near the shop. Glancing up, he pulled out his notebook and began to write down that lamp number, noting it’s non-working condition. Just then, the door to the Silkwood's burst open by two men assisting an unconscious man out of the building.
* * *
9:55 PM, Pilton Road
Rose stood at the street corner and gazed at the townhouse two doors up the street. The street lights reflected in the puddles and sheen left on the streets from the recent storm. She donned scrying goggles and adjusted the lenses to check for wards. Rather than seeing the glyphs or symbols of both Western and Egyptian omens illuminated, she observed streaks and glimmers around the house.
At that moment, an astral form caught her eye, standing in the street just where a carriage had passed. It was the shape of a middle-aged man. He looked English, striding towards the home. Rose was impressed to see such a strong image. She had projected many times but only to other planes, momentarily and with extensive support from arcane instruments and objects. She changed her lenses and adjusted the resolution. The streaks around the house became spirit shades and apparitions of the dead, and the glimmers were dozens of flickering points of the aether breaching into the mortal realm. Angelica’s defenses were pure, raw and unbreakable.
When the Englishman’s apparition passed through the garden gate, the arcane defenses solidified. The entire front garden was filled with apparitions of those that had died at or near the location, men, women children of all ages in various states of decay. The randomly moving spirits coalesced to block the Englishman’s path into the flat. An ancient Briton warrior grasping a spear and thatched shield stood resolutely in his way.
It was a surprise to the gentlemen when he tried to pass through the other apparitions but was blocked just as if he had walked into a material object. He tried to push through a second time, but the Briton warrior, showing a grin of rotting teeth, gave the Englishman the full brunt of his weight when he slammed into him with his shield. The English spiritualist fell to the ground.
For Rose, it was like watching one of those new moving stereoscope pictures silently flickering images playing out a tragic scene. She could do nothing more than stand by as the spirit guard of Angelica tore the astral projection to pieces, while all Rose could hear was the summer breeze rustling down the lane. What she observed on the man’s face was terror and anguish. Looking back to the street, she saw a second astral projection. Rose recognized the woman who floated just above the street as Madame Blatavsky, a local spiritualist. Blatavsky looked in Rose’s direction then flew away.
“Well, here goes plan B,” Rose muttered to herself, pulling her goggles down around her neck and walking towards the residence. Plan A was to approach with stealth. She wore her long crimson coat, it’s lining sewn with threads pulled from the death shrouds of sixteen saints and imbued with incantations of safe passage and protection. On past investigations, Rose had found the cloak to provide not only protection by camouflage from those wielding the arcane, but after what she just saw, she wasn’t sure if the coat would afford any type of protection at all so she might as well just stroll up and announce herself.
As she crossed the street, she felt a vibration on her belt. It was her arcana circulata, a warning device and directional locator for supernatural energy. She opened the case and looked at the direction and intensity dial. The intensity was pegged. Not a surprise after witnessing the wards the priestess had erected. What befuddled her was that the directional indicator was spinning versus pointing at the townhouse. Must look at that in the workshop.
Rose opened the garden gate and stepped onto the property, knowing she was within the scope of the priestess’ magic.
She slowly ascended steps up to the front door, expecting some type of snare or curse. Instead, as she made footfall on the landing, the front door creaked opened slowly.
Rose stuck her head in the doorway, taking notice of how nicely illuminated the rooms were all installed with the latest arc lamps.
“Come on back. I is in the parlor,” came a female voice in a West Indies accent.
As Rose stepped into the ornate room, she saw a stunning woman with a deep brown skin tone and a perfect mix of African and European facial features. She wore a hand-painted silk kimono with a high-neck lace blouse underneath. Her hair was not pinned up but left down long, lush and flowing. The woman sat in a high-back chair. Resting against the chair was a primitive staff of warped and petrified wood decorated with feathers and beads. Five human skulls rested at the top, one above another, skewered by the staff.
“Please have a seat. When God created time, he made a lot of it,” Angelica said as she shuffled tarot cards.
“You must be Ms. Angelica du Haiti?” Rose declared as she made her way to the chair opposite Angelica. She waited. “You are Angelica du Haiti?”
“Sister Caldwell, some know me by that name, but I prefer Angelica de Moya. Welcome. Would you please cut the cards?” the priestess requested, setting the deck down in front of Rose.
“Moya?” Rose said as she cut the deck.
While she laid out the cards face down, Angelica spoke.” I am the only daughter of Don Ernesto de Moya and a Haitian woman. Years after Don Hernando’s first wife died of yellow fever, he fell in love with my mother. Choose a card.”
Rose turned over the Magician card. “Mastery of the material world, self-discipline and a willingness to take risks,” said Angelica. A thoughtful frown crossed her face as she examined Rose, letting the meaning of the card settle in.
Angelica turned over the Priestess. Rose knew the meaning of this card—intuition, wisdom and secret knowledge.
“Pick another card, Rose,” pressed Angelica.
Rose flipped over the Tower.
&n
bsp; Angelica tapped the tarot as she recounted meaning. “A powerful selection, something remains yet to be revealed, but patience must be observed. Duality and mystery. Hidden influences, disruption. Conflict. Change. Sudden violent loss. Overthrow of an existing way of life.”
Rose’s hand was still on the card. Angelica placed her finger on the back of Rose’s hand, and with that, she was sent to another time and place.
* * *
10:02 PM, Silkwood & Co.
Rooftop banged on the back of the van. The driver released the clutch and reversed the truck. Watching in the side mirror, the driver positioned the truck onto the sidewalk so Jimmy and his thugs could jump out right in front of Silkwood.
The bandits had wrapped scarves around their faces and wore wool caps. Even Jimmy was dressed down, looking like a common cockney hoodlum.
The shocked officer saw the back of the truck barrel towards him, stopping a foot from him. Any comfort there was in not getting hit by the truck went away when Rooftop kicked the cop in the head, sending him to the pavement. He and another guy leapt on him, put a bag over his head then Rooftop punched the copper right in the solar plexus. The poor bastard was sucking so much air from the punch that the bag moved in and out of his mouth.
Jimmy's goons bagged the heads of the Silkwood workers, who dropped their unconscious coworker to fight off the thugs. Jimmy’s gang were seasoned street fighters and quickly dealt with the jewelers, with one getting a knee to the groin and the other a blackjack to the head. Both hit the ground moaning and groaning. “Stay down or you'll get your head caved in. This will all be over soon, and you will be safe if you don't act a hero,” yelled Jimmy.
The gang strode into Silkwood & Company.
“You two, grab a crate and get the fuck out. There is no air in here,” said Jimmy.
One of the goons said, "We should have worn gas masks.”
