The Power: Berkeley Blackfriars Book Two

by J. R. Mabry

  It occurred to him that this was ridiculous, but he shook it off. Everything about being a magickian was ridiculous. The robes, the secrecy, the horror-show aesthetics, the anal meticulousness. But he had never let that stop him. The urge to mastery, the will to power, was simply too great. It trumped everything, including dignity, including self-consciousness.

  He went into the bathroom and turned the hot water spigot. Then he lit a candle and shut the door behind him. He leaned against the wall and allowed his eyes to unfocus. In a few moments, he saw the mists swirl in the mirror, and Pim swarmed into view, her gauzy dress torn, her ponytail askew. She appeared to have several claw marks on her shoulders and a painful-looking black eye.

  “Pim,” he said in greeting, grinning at her. “You’ve had better days.”

  “No thanks to you,” she said. “I’m lucky I haven’t been devoured.”

  “The day is still young,” Larch said, but the humor in his voice was cold.

  “Why are you so smug, you fecal worm?” She spat. “You can be eaten, too.”

  “Are you going to eat me, Pim?” Larch asked. In truth, he didn’t know what had gotten into him. Pim used to have such power over him…He stopped and considered this. Yes, she had. And now she didn’t. Why hadn’t he seen that before?

  “I’d love to.”

  “Eat me, Pim.” It was a taunt and a sexual putdown. It also felt really, really good. He watched the bunching of her eyebrows in anger. Her pouty mouth drew up into a tight sphincter of rage.

  Larch was enjoying this. He breathed deep, and as he did so all of the doubt and uncertainty and the feelings of failure drained right out of him. In that moment, he realized that he wasn’t fighting for either side. He was fighting for freedom—for the freedom of the soul, for the freedom of every man to seek his own level of mastery.

  And he knew who was master here. He was. “Goodbye, Pim. I won’t be seeing you again. Feel free to torment some other lost soul. Enlist him in your cause—if you can. I won’t be your slave anymore.”

  “You commanded armies.” She was shaking with rage.

  “I was middle management, at best,” he smiled. “But not anymore.”

  He blew out the candle. He opened the door. He was, he realized, hungry. His spirit longed for fresh air, for recreation, for trees, even. Perhaps he’d go up to Muir Woods? I deserve a break, he thought. And then I’ll get back to work. But this time, I’ll work alone. This time, I won’t be a dupe for the other team. I, even I, will face the Tyrant and bring him down, and usher in a new age of freedom.

  That sounded grand. Too grand? he wondered, but then he shrugged. “Why not aim high?” He was, after all, intent upon mastery.

  EPILOGUE 3

  ONE WEEK LATER, HOLY APOCRYPHA FRIARY

  THE DOORBELL RANG FOR what seemed to Kat like the hundredth time. She sprang for the door, dodging guests. She’d never seen so many people at the friary. She opened the door to see the Reverend Felicia Dunne and her partner, Jan. Felicia was in full clerics and had a garment bag over one arm—vestments, Kat assumed. Her partner, shorter and much rounder, with a warm, jovial face, held up a box covered with brightly colored paper.

  “Where do you want gifts?” she asked.

  Kat held the screen door open and awkwardly hugged Felicia. She shook Jan’s hand and answered, “In the office, please—we’re just stacking them on Susan’s desk for now. Please help yourself to some hors d’oeuvres; they’re in the living room. I’ll be there in just a minute—I hope!”

  “Not to worry,” Felicia said. “I remember my own ordination to the diaconate—it was pretty crazy, too. At least, the reception was.”

  Kat paused to catch her breath, saw some paper plates left on the stairs, and scooped them up to take them to the trash can in the kitchen. Passing through the chapel, she saw Richard and Dylan discussing something that seemed to be about the liturgy. Terry was lighting candles.

  Reaching the kitchen, she dropped the plates into the trash under the sink. Brian was setting a plate of petits fours on the table. “You know, we ought to set a trash can out in the living room,” she said.

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” he said. “Can you snag Susan’s from the office?”

  “Sure.” She turned and ran right into Mikael. He’d just come down the stairs and had on a brand-new clerical shirt, but the collar was sticking out of his pocket. “I bet you’re just itching to fix that on your shirt,” she said, grabbing him around the waist.

  “It’s a rite of passage,” he said. “But, yeah, it’ll feel good.”

  “I’m proud of you,” she said.

  “You’re well on your way,” he said.

  “Hey, I want to be an exorcist, and I like being a friar. But I’m not sure I want to be ordained.”

  “Really? I thought…Well, why not?”

  “I don’t know why not,” she said, resting her head on his chest. They rocked back and forth. “I guess I just haven’t thought that far ahead, or dreamed that far ahead—”

  “Or discerned that far ahead?” Mikael asked.

  “Yeah. That’s a good word.” She smiled up at him. “I love the party, but I can’t wait to have you all to myself.”

  “Do you have an ordination present for me?”

  “Oh, you can bet on it,” she pulled him down and kissed him. “Mmmmm…” she moaned. “Deacon sex.” She kissed him again. “Definitely wear the collar.”

  “To bed?”

  “Who said anything about bed? I was thinking the Chapel of the Chimes.”

  “That enormous maze of a mausoleum in Oakland?” He jerked up, surprised. “Oh. Wow. Okay. Can’t wait for that present, then.”

  She pushed him away playfully and heard the whinny of a horse. “Prester!” she said, springing for the back door. Tobias barked and rushed into the kitchen, his tail wagging furiously.

  The khan stooped to enter and grinned. He was dressed in the same golden robe of office that he had been wearing when Kat first met him, with a leather bag slung over his shoulder. It was clear that his hair had been cut and oiled, and his mustache looked as if it had been waxed or something, making him look vaguely like some kind of Chinese cowboy mob boss. Kat giggled at the thought.

  “My lady,” he said, bowing to Kat.

  “Hot pot, coming through!” Brian announced, coming between them with a steaming cauldron of mulled wine. He set it down with an audible “oaf” on a hot plate set near the back of the kitchen table. “Good to see you, your majesty,” he said, turning back toward the stove.

  “Brian,” said the khan. He then gave Mikael a curt bow. “Deacon Mikael, this is a most auspicious day. This day you enter into the lineage of power reaching all the way back to Our Lord and his apostles.”

  “Okay, now that’s the kind of talk that makes a fellow nervous,” Mikael said, stiffening.

  The khan turned to Kat. “I have a gift to bestow. But I would like to do so…away from the crowd.”

  “No problem,” Kat said. “Come with me.” She bounded up the back stairs and heard the heavy footsteps of the khan behind her, followed by Mikael’s lighter step. Once inside their room, Mikael closed the door. Kat noted with dismay that Prester John had to stoop in order to stand.

  “We don’t have much time,” she warned.

  “I will need little,” said the khan. He turned to Mikael. “You have been blessed with a good and godly woman.”

  Kat almost choked. “Godly? You got another woman on the side there, sweetheart?”

  Prester John ignored her. “She loves you and has visited me concerning you.”

  “She did?” Mikael looked at Kat. She shrugged.

  “She has told me of your calling. She has spoken of how you lack…How did you put it, Kat?”

  “Leverage?”

  “Yes. An apt metaphor. I think this should help.” From the leather bag over his shoulder he took a small medal hanging from a leather thong. “This is the Talisman of Amitiel. It is my gift to you.”
>
  “Wow. Okay. What does it do?” Mikael took the medal. It felt warm in his hand.

  “The next time you…hear ‘confessions,’ bear it with you, and hold it,” Prester John smiled. “It ensures verity.”

  “Verity is a good thing,” Mikael nodded. “Thank you, your majesty.”

  “Verily, verity is a very…good thing,” Kat said, trailing off.

  “She is also silly,” Prester John said to Mikael.

  “You just noticed that?” Mikael asked.

  “Likewise, I have something for your bishop—but it is only a…what is the word? Not to keep.”

  “A loan?” Kat offered.

  “Yes. Just for today’s worship. There will be a Divine Liturgy, I trust?”

  “Of course,” Mikael said.

  “Then he will perhaps like to use this.” Prester John pulled another prize from his leather bag, this one in a brilliant purple velvet pouch with a drawstring.

  “What is it?” Kat asked.

  “It is the cup our Lord drank from on the night before he died,” the khan said, and he was deadly serious.

  “The Holy Graal?” Mikael’s eyes were wide.

  “There is no other,” the khan agreed.

  KAT WATCHED as Richard rose from his seat in the west choir and looked around the room. The chapel was packed. Not only was every seat in both choirs filled but people were standing in the foyer and kitchen, looking on as well. In addition to the friars, Kat saw Mother Maggie, the Reverend Oberlin, Prester John, Davy Shannon, Astrid, the guys from Mikael’s band, almost everyone from the Christo-Pagan coven she and Mikael belonged to, and lots of people she didn’t know. She glanced up at the large mirror, which had been hung next to the mural of the patchwork Jesus just for the day, and she gave a tiny wave. She couldn’t see if Randy waved back.

  Richard stood before the altar and gave a nod. At this, Mikael and Terry rose as well, and standing shoulder to shoulder, they faced him. Terry gave a wide smile and in a booming voice, announced, “Richard Kinney, bishop in the Church of God, on behalf of the clergy of this order and the congregation here assembled, we present to you Mikael Bloomink to be ordained a deacon in Christ’s holy catholic church.”

  Kat didn’t hear much after that. Her eyes teared up as she watched Mikael standing proudly. Her mind raced, thinking of the short time they’d had together and yet all that they’d been through. She admired him, standing before God and his friends, taking these vows, promising his very life. It made her want to do the same.

  Richard turned to either side, addressing the congregation. “Is it your will that Mikael be ordained a deacon?”

  “Yes!” they all shouted.

  “Will you uphold him in this ministry?”

  “Yes!” they all shouted.

  “In peace, let us pray to the Holy One…”

  After the prayers, the scriptures were read. Then Reverend Dunne moved to the lectern that faced the altar between the choirs and unfolded her text. Setting it down calmly, she smoothed out the pages and smiled warmly.

  “I feel privileged to have been asked to preach today. I only met Mikael Bloomink a little over a week ago, when he and a couple of the other Blackfriars burgled my church.” That got a huge laugh. “I can tell that everyone here knows them well enough that you believe that, you are not surprised, and you probably even approve. I’m not sure I’m quite there yet.” She made a face. “But I will say how much I admire these folks and how grateful I am that they have the courage to do what they do.

  “Mikael, today you enter into a sacred covenant—between yourself and God, and between yourself and God’s people. You are about to be ordained into the historic succession that, legend tells us, began with Jesus and proceeds in an unbroken line to your own bishop. That might be so, and it might not—it is, as I said, legend. I don’t believe it or disbelieve it. Instead, I rest in the mystery of it, as I do so many things in the life of faith.

  “One thing I am clear about is that this succession is not about power. I don’t believe that some kind of spiritual mumbo-jumbo is being handed on. I don’t think this ordination makes you more powerful than anyone else—”

  “Ah do,” Kat heard Dylan mumble under his breath. Susan elbowed him in the ribs, hard. Kat stifled a giggle.

  “Instead, what it confers upon you is responsibility. Not authority, not power-over, not magick—but responsibility. A responsibility to the people around you, to strangers, to all those in need—to serve and not to be served, to help with no thought of reward, to heal and not to harm.

  “In our epistle for today, Saint Paul says that Jesus ‘emptied himself of power, and took the form of a servant.’ Just so, today you are charged with the very ministry of Jesus himself: to empty yourself of all authority, privilege, prestige, or power, just as he did, and to stand side by side with those who have none of those things, to share in their lot, to minister to them, to speak for them where they cannot even if it means losing your life to do it. That’s what Jesus means when he says to ‘take up your cross and follow me.’

  “Today, you stand before God and all those you love and vow to make this your path. Yet isn’t this, in fact, the duty of all Christians? After all, our real ordination is baptism—it is baptism that joins us to Jesus’s life and ministry. It is baptism that makes us a priestly people—which is to say, it makes us into servants and charges us with Jesus’s own mission. All of this is true.

  “So why the sacrament of Ordination? Ordination not only affirms this vow but also affirms that you will make Jesus’s mission your profession, your life’s work. While all Christians are charged with the responsibility to carry on Jesus’s mission, those of us who are ordained do so with a heightened degree of accountability—to the church, to our neighbors, and to God. Today, this responsibility will be conferred upon you.

  “Shaking in your boots? You should be. Because this responsibility is heavy. Jesus asked God to ‘let this cup pass from me’ because it was too bitter to drink. You will pray this prayer, too. From what I have seen, you have probably done this already a time or two. And yet here you are. This assures me of one thing: your vocation is a true one.

  “But heed my warning well. The temptation to power is great. Others will try to put you on a pedestal—but you must climb down. Administration of your church or order might give you a big head—deflate it. You might begin to think you are infallible or invincible—you are not. If this mission comes with any power whatsoever, it is none of yours. The power is God’s, and God’s alone. Let us not lean on our own understanding. Let us not proceed under our own steam. Let us not think that we can do any of this by ourselves—because we can’t.

  “The mission is God’s.”

  A cheer of “Amen!” rose up from the congregation.

  “The healing is God’s!”

  “Amen!” More joined in.

  “The plan is God’s!”

  “Amen!” By now everyone was shouting.

  “The power is God’s!”

  “Amen!” Kat yelled along with everyone else.

  “The world is God’s!”

  “Amen!”

  At this, Felicia looked straight into Mikael’s eyes, and Kat held her breath. “Your life, Mikael. It. Is. God’s!”

  “Amen!” they all shouted, and Reverend Dunne picked up her notes and sat down.

  Richard stood before the altar again and led them all in the Nicene Creed. Then Mikael stood before him once again, this time alone. Terry moved a prie-dieu out into the aisle between the choirs. Mikael knelt on it, facing Richard.

  “My brother,” Richard began, “do you believe that you are truly called by God and his Church to the life and work of a deacon?”

  “I’d better be,” Mikael replied. Richard scowled. “Uh, yes.”

  “Do you now, in the presence of God’s people, commit yourself to this trust and responsibility?”

  “I do.”

  “Will you be faithful in prayer, and in the reading and study
of the scriptures?”

  “Oh yeah. Good stuff there.”

  “Will you look for Christ in all others, being ready to help and serve those in need?”

  “I will.”

  “Will you do your best to live your life according to the example of Jesus, to be a good example for all people?”

  “A good example?” Mikael screwed his face up. “Me?”

  “Just say ‘I will,’” said Terry. “The promise is to ‘do your best.’”

  “I will,” Mikael obeyed.

  “Will you in all things seek not your glory but the glory of the Lord Christ?”

  “I’m not sure what glory really means, but I will seek it.”

  “Good enough,” said Richard. “May God’s grace uphold you in the work that is before you.” Then Richard said a prayer—a little too long for Kat’s comfort. Then he put his hands on Mikael’s head and prayed, “Therefore, O God, through Jesus Christ, give your Holy Spirit to Mikael; fill him with your grace, fill him with your power, and make him a deacon—a servant for the world.”

  EPILOGUE 4

  TWO DAYS LATER, IN HELL

  TERRY JERKED BACK ONTO the curb, narrowly avoiding a hurtling taxi. “That was close,” he said. “It’s good to see things are getting back to normal here.”

  Hell was buzzing. The streets were congested with cars, and the sidewalks were packed with humans and demons of all dimensions and dispositions, all of them seeming to be in a very great hurry to get somewhere.

  “It’s like a totally different place than it was last time,” Kat agreed. Mikael squeezed her hand. Dylan, Susan, and Richard seemed almost bored with their surroundings, and it was obvious to Kat that they had been here many times before.

  Brian stepped out into the road again, shifting the large picnic basket to his other hand. “Okay, it’s clear. Let’s cross.”

  “I’m relieved to see all the demons back at their regular jobs,” Terry added. “At least I’m not wondering what they’re up to.”