Rites & Desires

by Amanda Cherry

  She had been right that the book wasn’t in English. Her original presumption was that the tome would be in Latin, as most of her older books tended to be. The older the book, and the more arcane the knowledge, the more likely it was to have been printed in a dead language. The volume was printed on paper, and easily identifiable as having been put together using movable type, but Ruby was finding it difficult to discern exactly what the language was. It could have been Old English, or Cornish, or German; it was clearly neither Latin nor French nor modern Italian. The characters told her it wasn’t Greek nor any language using Arabic, Cyrillic, Hebrew, or Asian-appearing characters. There were hieroglyphics on a few of the pages, but they seemed to be there as illustrations rather than anything intended to be read as text.

  None of that mattered, though--not really--as Ruby had no means to read any of it. She frowned pointedly at the book as she popped a handful of raspberries into her mouth. When her powers had been intact, even before they had been augmented by her contact with the glittering alien, she’d had a supernatural aptitude for discerning the meaning behind words on any printed page. Not so these days.

  Hieroglyphics, she figured, did put the focus in near to the right part of the world to give her information about the Eye of Africa. Knowing what she did about the history of written language and of printed books, and with her limited but growing understanding of the stories of King Solomon, the Queen of Sheba, and ancient developments in that part of the world, there was every chance that what the Blights had uncovered was honestly pertinent to her current quest. Of course, there was really no way to tell without being able to read the book. Surely one or more of the Blights, magical entities that they were, had a way to read or otherwise decipher the text; otherwise how would they have known to point out this passage in the first place?

  "Which one of you can read this thing?" she asked, not bothering to look up from the book and the bowl of raspberries.

  "Discontent could probably read it word for word," Pestilence answered, getting up from his seat at the counter and crossing to stand closer, but not too close, to Ruby.

  "All right," she answered, the thrall of the Eye still affecting her enough to keep her voice sweeter than it would have been ordinarily, "but since Discontent isn’t here, and surely it was one of you who came across this passage and decided it was relevant to my interests, I would like to know which of you made that determination and precisely what precipitated it, please." It was clear when she looked around the room that the Blights were surprised by the ultra-pleasant tenor of her question.

  Ruby herself was equally surprised. The effect of the Eye had barely diminished in the few minutes she’d been apart from it. Considering it was beneath earth, salt, and lead, and surrounded both by its native ward (which she was sure she hadn’t managed to crack) as well as the circle she had cast herself, the fact that its magic was still with her was a very interesting point of data. She was pleased, to be sure, although cautiously so. It seemed she had somehow managed to take some of the magic of the Eye into herself, but she knew the experience she’d had was an accidental one. And she also knew, somehow deep in her gut where the magic in her had always lain, she had barely scratched the surface of what the object was capable of. And if this experience had been the equivalent of sticking a proverbial toe into the ocean of the magic of the Eye of Africa, then she was already aching to dive into its deep end.

  "It was me," Doubt answered. She set a box of something Ruby didn’t recognize from the pantry onto the kitchen counter and crossed to stand between her mistress and Pestilence. "I can’t read it all," she confessed, "only the things written or printed with doubt in the mind of the creator."

  Ruby nodded. So that’s how it worked--each of the Blights could understand any text that somehow related to their own existence. Maybe.

  "So why do you say Discontent would probably be able to read all of it?" she asked.

  "Because everyone who had a hand in the book may have affected it," Pestilence answered. "If the author felt discontented by the unsolvable mysteries, or the typesetter was unhappy with his working conditions, or the man who made the paper, or who bound the book--"

  Ruby nodded. "So, basically any book printed around the time this one was has a good chance of being readable by Discontent," she surmised.

  A chorus of nods answered her.

  "But because this was printed in the Guttenberg era by devout Christians," Doubt chimed in, "there was a lot of doubt as to the validity of the contents. Even though it was written as a book of arcane history, it was actually illegal for books of this type to be viewed by anyone outside of the clergy. At least--that seems to be the case according to the internet."

  Ruby frowned. She hadn’t remembered giving the Blights the Wi-Fi password at the studio, and she knew she hadn’t given them the one for the house.

  "The internet?" she asked. Not only was the Wi-Fi question in play, but she couldn’t help but find it odd that a bunch of timeless, ageless, magical thoughts-made-flesh had somehow mastered the art of the search engine.

  "One of the janitors left his Starphone in the studio space," Fire answered, pulling the familiar device from one of her pockets. "And we had a lot of time on our hands. We figured out how to use it."

  Ruby’s mouth fell open, but she wasn’t displeased. An industrious bunch they were, and that suited her just fine. They were in her service, after all, and as long as they owed her fealty, she took no issue at all with their cleverness. It might even serve her well in the long run.

  "All right," Ruby conceded, happy enough with the answer and more than anxious to get back to the central topic at hand. "So, based on what you were able to find on the internet," she began the sentence she’d interrupted anew, hoping to spur the conversation back to where it had been.

  "This book you have," Doubt answered, picking up the volume carefully and examining the marked page, "was printed in order to keep awareness of certain kinds of magic available to those who might encounter someone trying to use it. It’s practically a witch hunting manual. Only the flavor of the magic it deals with is decidedly African. It’s framed as being pagan knowledge from the Old Testament, and it reads as disgustingly anti-Semitic in places. But this thing was printed a few hundred years before the discovery of the Rosetta Stone, meaning the prints of the hieroglyphs were absolutely indiscernible. In fact, I’m not sure they were aware it was a real written language. It’s weird. The commentary seems half terrified and half completely dismissive. It’s like they’re saying these old gods and these old mysteries aren’t actually real and therefore aren’t really worth knowing about, but just in case they are real, then bishops and cardinals and the like should know how to deal with them. It’s all filtered through Gnosticism, too, so it’s really an ugly Christian mess of commentary. But when it gets down to the source material, the stuff that all the commentary is warning these clergymen of ... well, that might lead in the direction of the Eye of Africa. I can’t be sure." She shook her head as she stared down at the text. "But this could lead us to something. It’s the best we have, anyway."

  Ruby started in on another handful of raspberries and nodded. "Can you get this in front of Discontent?" she asked.

  "We can do that," Pestilence assured her.

  "Without interrupting what he’s already up to?" Ruby asked as follow-up. The last thing she wanted at this point was to interrupt the good work being done keeping Elizabeth Stevens away from her husband. Keeping that up was second only to figuring out the secrets of the Eye, and she didn’t want to let one cause become detrimental to the other, unless it was absolutely necessary. And at this point, she wasn’t convinced it was.

  "Yeah," Pestilence answered casually. "Shouldn’t be a problem."

  "It might take a day or two," Doubt interjected, "and I can’t tell you how long it’s going to take Discontent to make sense of it. I can’t even promise Discontent can make sense of it, only that it’s your best chance."

  "All ri
ght," Ruby affirmed, looking around the room and then back into her now-empty bowl of berries. "Make that happen. I can afford to be patient as long as it means Discontent isn’t interrupted, so take whatever time you need. But don’t dawdle." She stood up and regarded the Blights.

  They were all facing her and wearing the same looks of determination she recognized from the day of the vault heist. This was going to get done and it was going to get done well, she was sure of it.

  She gave the lot of them a firm nod before heading back down the stairs to spend more hands-on time with the Eye. As she departed, she could hear the group of them stirring about her kitchen again and it occurred to her to call back a reminder. "And don’t burn down the house!"

  CHAPTER TEN

  Whatever she had done with that circle and that pile of salt to give her access to the power of the Eye, Ruby was now convinced it had been the right thing. She had continued to feel connected to it throughout several trips upstairs for food, drink, bathroom visits, and to check that the Blights hadn’t done anything destructive to her house. She’d spent the rest of the day and well into the night meditating with it, handling it, and trying to feel out what it was leading her to do.

  She had dealt with magical items before. Even though nothing she had handled up to this point had been nearly as powerful as the Eye of Africa, in her experience, items of this variety all behaved in a similar manner. Once she had made this near-accidental connection to it, she was confident she needed only follow its lead to in order to connect to it fully. Magical items wanted to exert their power. Being inanimate, the Eye’s only means by which to do such a thing was in the hands of someone who was willing to channel it. Now that she had begun to tap into its power, Ruby was sure the Eye would lead her farther down the path to wielding it--if she could only figure out how it wanted her to do so.

  By the time she finally retired to bed late Sunday evening, Ruby was sure she was making progress. She had reached a point where she could feel the Eye without having it physically touching her. When she concentrated, she could feel it surge, feel its power begin to brush against the empty place in her existence where her own power had once lay. That was a distinct victory. She hadn’t wanted to stop. She would have stayed up all night working with the Eye, she had planned to stay up all night working with the Eye, but an interesting episode sometime after midnight had made her think better of it.

  There was a moment, between chants, as she’d gotten up to walk off kinks in her knees from sitting lotus-style on the salt-tiled floor and rub a sore spot in her shoulder before continuing, when she became aware of a familiar yet unexpected feeling. Drain. She was feeling drained. The fatigue she was experiencing wasn’t just the ordinary tiredness a person might expect from concentrating on a mental puzzle all day. This fatigue was of the variety she recognized from her days of testing her innate power. It had been months since she had felt the aching in the places where her magic had dwelt, but she knew the feeling. It was as distinct from ordinary fatigue as a sneeze was from a cough. And it was present.

  True magical drain could only mean one thing--her own magical potential had been contacted by her work with the Eye. And this was wonderful. This was singularly thrilling. There could have been no better indication she was on the right track. But she also knew her magical muscles were, to say the least, weak. Her abilities, whether lying dormant or altogether missing, were atrophied with disuse. Overextending herself now could easily lead to the kind of magical burnout she had only ever read about. Ruby knew she could not afford a setback as dire as that. Truly, she could afford no setbacks at all. Just as someone planning to run long distances does well by conquering shorter distances first, Ruby chose to take her leave of the Eye and the magical space and rest until the drained feeling had past.

  She awoke Monday morning to a pair of joy-inducing realizations: the fatigue had faded, and she could still feel the power of the Eye. She was almost giddy as she raced through her morning ablutions. Her fingers were literally trembling with excitement as she snatched her personal Starphone from its charger and fired off emails to her assistant and to Jaccob claiming illness. She’d learned long ago that a migraine, be it real or concocted, was enough to get her out of just about any obligation. She had no qualms at all about lying to her business associates; the day-to-day operation of the company would go on just fine without her. Anything that truly needed her attention could likely wait until tomorrow. She also knew both her office assistant, Bridget, and her building manager, Arsho, wouldn’t hesitate to call her in case of any legitimate emergencies, no matter what ailment had caused her absence.

  Jaccob, on the other hand, she wasn’t thrilled to be lying to. Upon reflection, she found that sudden attack of conscience oddly alarming. She’d had no compunction about lying to lovers in the past, and she and Jaccob didn’t even qualify for that title. Yet she found herself strangely beholden to some concept she had of doing this thing--whatever it was they were doing--"right." Other than the fact that she’d used one of the Blights to get his wife out of the way, and the fact that she’d been somewhat less than forthcoming about her history with magic, she’d been basically honest with Jaccob up to this point. Come to think of it, without magical influence to exert, she’d been an awful lot more honest with Jaccob than she ever had with anyone she’d ever been involved with. She had been closer to completely honest with Jaccob Stevens than she ever had with any person for any reason. Lying to him now, bald-faced lying to him, just seemed wrong.

  And that was not a feeling Ruby Killingsworth was used to. Still, she had her priorities, and the Eye of Africa was the most pressing. What Jaccob didn’t know wasn’t going to hurt her. He would be fine. And it had never caused her trouble in romantic pursuits in the past to leave a man wanting more. Being too available was never a good idea. So she was content enough to send him a quick text apologizing for not being in town like she said she’d be and heading downstairs to her sanctuary to make further progress with the Eye.

  She had no idea whether the Blights were still in the house or not. And she decided she really didn’t give a damn. They had their task, they had the book, and they had a clear understanding of what was expected of them. Where they had chosen to spend last night really had no bearing on her plans. Loki had sent them to do her bidding, and so far they had done so satisfactorily. She would trust them to do what they said they were going to do and keep her focus on making forward progress with the Eye.

  It was scarcely an hour into the morning, and she was sure her decision had been the right one. The stirring she felt immediately in her magical center upon first contact with the Eye in the morning had been better than any jolt from caffeine she had ever experienced, making the fact that she’d skipped this morning’s usual two cups of coffee altogether immaterial.

  And when, several hours later, the sting of drain eked its way into the edges of her consciousness again; she put down the jewel and went back upstairs. She was being unusually patient with herself, uncharacteristically cautious. But the introduction of the feeling of magical potential back into her being was too precious a thing to be handled in haste or without due care. Plus, another bowl of raspberries sounded pretty good right about now.

  Ruby opened the door from the basement stairs into the kitchen to find Plague and Pestilence sitting with Ruin and Decay at the breakfast bar, eating what she could only guess was cereal from her formal silver serving bowls. The carafe of milk was out on the counter, as was a pile of spoons of differing sizes. Ruby had no idea where they might have gotten cereal--she was pretty sure her staff wouldn’t have gone against her interdiction against carbs not contained in bar mixers. But then again, maybe the Blights had gone shopping. She had no idea where they might have gotten any money, but there was every chance on the nights they weren’t doing things for her they’d gone out and gotten jobs or robbed a bank or something. They were on loan from Loki, so the two sources of income seemed equally plausible.

  She was just a
bout to begin admonishing them against using silver serving pieces as cereal bowls when she noticed a large package sitting on the table by the terrace doors. It was a cherry wood tray with a floral arrangement on it, all wrapped up in cellophane and tied with a bow at the top.

  "That came for you," Plague said, pointing at the package.

  "Did you touch it?" she asked, crossing the room to further examine it. She was sure that Fire, Ruin, and Decay were able to control whether or not they had an effect on the things they touched; she liked to think that such power of restraint also extended to Plague, but she remembered the day the Blights had arrived at her penthouse-- when she’d been warned she should go and wash her hands after touching the note Plague had handed her. She figured it was better to be safe than sick. It was one thing to spend a morning skiving off work under the guise of illness, it was yet another thing to actually fall ill. The latter was something she wanted absolutely no part of.

  "Nah," Plague answered, shaking his head a little as he lifted another spoonful of whatever it was in the bowl to his mouth. "Fire and Doubt caught the delivery man when they were on their way out this morning."

  Ruby nodded. It was good to hear the two Blights had headed out already. She could only hope they had taken the book with them and were on their way to connect with Discontent. It would be nice to get some answers.

  Ruby crossed the room quickly to get a closer look at the tray. As she untied the ribbon and pulled away the cellophane wrapping, she saw there was more to this tray than a floral arrangement. The flowers were beautiful--white roses with sprigs of fragrant lavender interspersed throughout the ample bouquet. But the tray was covered with a selection of other small gifts as well. There was a one-pound bag of Italian roast coffee with the Schrodinger’s Cup logo on the front, two large bars of 70% dark chocolate, and a bottle of very nice burgundy. There was a tiny card in a purple envelope peeking out from the back side of the flower arrangement; Ruby plucked it carefully from its flimsy holder.