“Who the hell was that?” Lance asked, patting his chest for his cigarettes.
“Bah! Fuck it! I’m going home. God damn spirits and shit. The burnings are Reaper and Magnum Opus issues. We'll figure out who the son of a bitch is doing the human sacrifices, but it isn’t high on our list of priorities. The Prophet, and now this I Am asshole is. Be ready when I call for DC. I don’t think it will take the entire order, so it'll be us Quintus and Adonis,” he said as his phone rang.
“Hey Rex. We just got a mass message from the Order of the Star and Crescent. They're inviting all Orders to Temple Eliyon for a banquet. Something about the Great Hudna,” Caden said.
Rufus rolled his eyes. “Fine. Accept it and put me and Borgia down on the guest list,” Rufus said, snapping Cesare out of his daze.
“Fuck no Rex!” he said, shaking his head.
“Oh, so you think the title of Magia Princeps only applies in the heat of battle? You will go, and you will smile and be diplomatic no matter what horseshit they place in front of you.”
“Claudius is Magia Legatus. So his rank affords him to share in the discomfort,” Cesare responded. “Besides, I’m not trying to go somewhere that my wife isn’t welcome,” he added.
“Magia Legatus has put in his time. Nearly a thousand years to your what, eight? Besides, the Order of the Blue Goddess is also invited. We'll just have to make sure the girls cover their tits and asses,” he said laughing.
“Now, we better get the fuck out of here before the damn Magistrates and sheeple cops show up. I'm not in a mood for an interrogation. Guédé Masaka, it was a pleasure,” Rufus said, throwing her three gold coins. Guédé Masaka bowed and sped down the road in her Hearst. D'Artagnan bid the brothers farewell, leaving with Rufus, which left them the privacy to talk.
Lance was the silent type which often had him smoking as an emotional outlet, but Cesare would force him to open up to avoid him going back to his old way of dealing with things. Cesare revved up the engine, shutting off the music as he waited for Lance to say something.
Lance handed him the cufflink which caused Cesare to raise an eyebrow. “I picked that up near the feet of the Alchemist. I find it a coincidence that Luis came to my place today asking us to help protect him. Then that shows up at the burning,” he said, shifting the conversation away from his true thoughts.
“Uh-huh. And?”
“Well, he claimed there is a hit out on him. Funny thing is, as I kicked him out, something really did get him,” Lance said laughing.
“What was it?” Cesare asked laughing as well.
“I don't know. Sounded like a wolf. But now I'm wondering why our family crest was found at the scene of the burning.”
Cesare bit his bottom lip and hit the steering wheel.
“You think someone is trying to frame us?”
“Yeah. It’s the fucking Order of Mopses. Luis made some enemies during his tenure with the Mopses. When we stopped cleaning up his bullshit, his reputation became less threatening. Or, maybe it was a message,” Cesare said.
Lance shook his head and looked out the window as his eyes caught a glimpse of a photo of Mila on Cesare’s phone sitting in the cup holder. The visible despair on his face was heartbreaking, and as hard of a man Cesare was, he worried about his younger brother.
He drove up to the Palace and parked; the two men sitting in silence watching the Orders go in and out the front door. The Blue Palace was an eye popping monument of magical architecture. Looking much like an Arabian palace, the outer walls and large domes were painted various shades of blue, which shimmered in the sunlight.
There were many balconies which the Dakinis and Contessas decorated according to their own personalities. The parking lot was always filled with the vehicles from each of the thirty-three Orders who were permitted access. Some came for drinks, food, the shows or various forms of healing.
“Why are we here?”
“Because you could use some company tonight. I know you've been in a bit of a funk lately and you just really need to let Naomi go. It’s been like two years and the bitch ain’t coming back. I mean, you fucked up, yeah. But there is love out there for you bro. The only way you’re going to find it is staying out of other men's beds,” he said, getting out of the car.
Lance was somewhat shocked at Cesare's bluntness, but knew in his heart he was right. Those words hit home and he leaned against the car, hesitant on walking in. As he stood in the parking lot, there were several scenes that caught his attention.
Hercules, the leader of the Guild of Iron Fists, was standing near his car trying to defend himself as a Contessa splashed him with red wine. Abdullah and Moheed flying in on their magic carpets; carefully rolling them up and leaning them against the wall next to several broomsticks; adjusting their turbans before they walked in.
Clyde, who had just arrived after a quick report to Matilda, was beating his broomstick as cinders from his cigarette fell upon the bristles lighting it on fire, and Josie, D'Artagnan's wife, was getting in the car with another man. He shook his head and headed into the Palace.
***
The entrance to the Blue Palace was as elegant as any five-star hotel. The foyer was lit by a grand chandelier which had blue light bulbs giving the white marble a deep glow. There were Magia gateways on the left and right walls, between the rows of nude male and female statues.
Kelly, a Contessa level Blue Goddess, sat at the front desk which separated the private suites on the left, with the dance floor on the right; taking appointments for privates, and ensuring that those who entered abided by the laws of the Council of Nine.
There were five levels of competency in the Order of the Blue Goddess. The Marked Maidens being the lowest level wore white, Contessas were the next step up and wore pink, Courtesans wore red and Dakinis wore blue.
Once a Dakini became of age, they transitioned to the Dame level who wore silver. Kelly straightened her pink corset and smiled at Lance who forced himself to smile back as he walked to the dance hall on the right.
Inside, all eyes were on the tall, slender, Miss Chrissy. Her sultry voice captivated both men and women as she sang her blues. She moved her hips in a sparkly blue dress with a split showing the length of her long, mocha legs.
Her dusty blonde hair was pinned up with a large white flower on the right side and red lipstick plumped her thick lips. She released her own sadness through the gift of song which many could associate with.
Lance sat at the bar, feeling and understanding her pain; the drink nearly bringing him to tears. Cesare took Mila into his arms and fell into her energy. She laid her head upon his chest listening to the beat of his heart.
“You smell like smoke,” she said chuckling and thinking about the priests.
“You've had my fire blazing all night.”
“I can feel,” she said giggling.
“I have something to tell you, and you’re not going to like it.”
“Uh-huh.”
“We ran into one of the Hierophants. He was working with some wolves and they were raping a Pantheress. I’m pretty sure that’s going to blow up into something else. You know Panthera Crux plays no games with those who come for him.”
Cesare sighed hard knowing she was right. His own dealings with the Hierophants were less than glamorous; them being the reason he could wield spirit fire to begin with.
“What are you going to do?” she asked, as he gripped her hard, attempting to dismiss her words.
Cesare caught a glimpse of Lance staring at them intensely and felt sorry for his lonely brother. Lance couldn’t help but think about how he missed the slow dances with his wife, the look she gave him as they embraced each other; but it was a feeling he would never relive. Lance took a shot and stormed down the hallway willing to fuck the first woman that grabbed him.
“You want to go for round two?” Cesare whispered as she nodded.
“Everyone the Psyllii are here!” Abdullah shouted, causing stares to towards the entranc
e. He and Moheed were wearing their finest silks, matching turbans and shoes which curled at the toe. Both men had a large belled flute dangling from their belts which was fastened by a large gold buckle bearing the seal of the Order of the Charming Psyllii.
Good looking men, both with black hair, thick eyebrows and long lashes. Their small round chins that were absent of face hair, and the brownest skin the Middle East could birth.
Mila and Cesare met them with laughs as they were on their way out; the Psyllii embraced them with brotherly love.
“Don’t mind us Mistress, we wish not to disturb sexy time,” he said, fluttering his eyebrows. Abdullah and Moheed made their way to a table where they were dazzled by the vocal skills of Miss Chrissy.
The Borgias were in their own world and walked to Mila's suite tearing at each other's clothes as they tongue wrestled to the soft sounds of Chrissy's serenade playing overhead.
Lance walked to the end of the hall to the last open door and shut it behind him. There a young woman laid on the bed reading a beauty magazine with a red lingerie set on. Her baby blue eyes widened as he startled her, and she sat up feeling his anxiety.
“Tell me what you need,” she said, walking up to him and taking his hand. Lance towered over her and grabbed her by the hips.
“I need you to lie on your back, look me in the eye and make me believe I'm the only man on the planet,” he said softly.
She couldn't do anything but comply, laying silent, staring into space, as his soft touch caused her to lose herself. He gazed at her with his dark eyes as he sought the look, the feel of being the one.
The stare returned to him was one of lust; a look that was all too familiar for him. As she reached up to kiss him, he grabbed her by the throat, roughly turning her on her stomach.
“Since you can’t see me, I can’t see you,” he said, as he entered her from behind. She gasped as she was surprised by the size; holding on to the pillow as the long, deep strokes inside of her brought her to pleasurable screams.
He was angry, and she could feel it with every thrust. She reached back for him to slow the momentum, but he ignored her demands as he continued to tickle her g-spot. Her body collapsed as she came, but he pulled her by the hair; lifting her head off the pillow to let her know he wasn’t done.
Lance continued to relieve himself of his anger eventually releasing his negative energy inside of her. As she lay limp on the bed, he lit a cigarette and cut the inside of his hand with a pair a scissors.
He drew a love sigil on a sheet of paper with his blood; which was now free of negative energy. “I will my wife to return to me in love. I must hear her voice. If only for a moment. As I will it, so shall it be,” he said as he kissed it and burnt it. He opened a window and let the wind carry his will into the universe.
Lance looked back at the woman who still lay lifeless. Her aura began to pulse and her womb began to swell as her magic attempted to tear down the negative energy which Lance released himself from. He left her a gift of cash as he exited to the dance room.
Cesare lie next to Mila and they laughed and talked; enjoying each other's company after a vigorous sex session. They embraced each other, reaffirming their love with kisses and deep stares. Their auras pulsed a deep red causing their souls to sway to the same rhythm. Mila nibbled on his chin which always made him laugh.
“I'm grateful for you. For our love. For this moment. We've been through so much and I couldn't imagine a day without looking at you, hearing your voice, feeling your touch,” he said.
Mila smiled at him. “Ditto. I feel sorry for those who have never known love.”
“Yeah. Like Lance and Caden. And hell Claudius,” Cesare said.
“Definitely Caden. Claudius has known love though. He's just still in mourning.”
“Fuck that Mila. The shit happened a century ago!”
“Some heal differently Cesare. You know that. Lance is the same way. He feels responsible for his failed marriage. We've been searching for Naomi, but we haven't had any luck or leads. I hope she's not dead,” Mila said sighing.
“Shit. I hope not either. I don't think he would handle that well,” Cesare said as his phone began to buzz, bringing a brief pause to their private moment.
7
Into the catacombs
The night sky shifted its dominance to eastern Europe blanketing Romania with darkness, and the hustle and bustle of Castle Panchrest came to a quiet calm. Rubedo sentries stood guard as they did every hour of the day; the students in their chambers or the library for studies.
Solon paced the floors of his chamber as his heart weighed heavy with the unsettling vision given to him earlier. He balled the parchment with Callan's visions written upon it in his left hand as it stirred within him ill emotion; something he had not felt in quite some time.
A thousand arrows shall pierce the skin, the heart of you will be taken by he who is given the crimson robe, were the words which kept replaying in his mind.
You wish to double cross me. You have always wanted my throne, the power. Is that why you begged for me to take you as my husband? I have found you out Cornelius. Perhaps you know I'm weakened. You will strike while my pants are down, he thought to himself, pacing back and forth.
He looked out the window towards the moon’s light as he felt an ominous presence slowly approaching in a far off distance. A familiar energy, one which caused him to grab hold to the philosopher's stone around his neck. Death, ever gnawing at him like a gnat upon fruit, Solon relied heavily on his magic to keep from succumbing to its will.
His magic was growing weak. With each passing day he was only Solon the Great in name as basic transmutations were becoming difficult to perform, while Cornelius was steadily becoming more powerful. Paranoia fed his new found weakness especially towards any who threatened his position.
Stepping off of the plush rug, the marble floor in his bedroom was cold to his feet; his legs trembling in shock. The skin of his chest raised with goosebumps as the cold air of the night blew upon him from the slightly opened window. He covered himself with a red robe; his eyes looking towards his large canopy bed.
His husband Cornelius and wife Janna curled up, sleeping soundly as babes, as he envied them for the peace they shared. Solon's eyes stared intently into space as he attempted to make sense of the vision.
His mistrust for Cornelius was consuming his thoughts; the vision intensifying those feelings. He clenched his aching chest as if it were stabbed with a blade and grunted. Looking down he could see the light of his aura dimming to a dead-like gray.
Solon grabbed a candelabra and headed for a side door hidden behind a large painting of his order's founder, Hermes Trismegistus. As he lived and taught in Castle Panchrest, Solon believed that being surrounded by electricity deadened one's abilities.
He refused electricity in the castle, but allowed the students to construct a tower adjacent to the castle for electronics. The Alchemists also enjoyed running water that was heated with a solar heating system engineered by the Gentlemen of the Haze. The walls were lined with lighted sconces that were always ablaze thanks to the constant flow of ethanol which ran throughout the castle.
Solon took the spiral stairwell and found himself in his quiet laboratory. He turned a knob on the side of the wall and the large room lit up with fifty small sconces along the walls and one large flaming chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
He walked towards a bookshelf pulling it forward to reveal yet another stairwell and descended even further. The stone walls were wet and smelled of mold; the only light was that which he held. The path he took led to a great tomb, the Catacombs of the Fallen Masters.
The large, subterranean chamber had a towering ceiling with an opening allowing the moon light and sun light to shine through. Here, the past Grand Alchemists slept peacefully; their twelve sarcophagi lined in a perfect circle around that of Hermes Trismegistus, which upon his effigy held a green book.
Solon pushed the sarcophagus of Hermes b
ack and there was yet another set of stairs. At the end of his journey, there was a door with several shapes scattered across it. Solon moved them to match the pattern of the Order's seal, and the door unlocked.
Inside, Solon protected the great library housing the single copies of the great works of his forebears. In the center was the great seal of his order etched upon the floor. Upon the circle was a column, and a glowing green book which Solon grabbed and took back to his laboratory.
For the length of his life, like that of his forebears, he tirelessly tried to master the elements and find the last ingredient to the Immortalis Exilis. Solon had come close many times, his own life prolonged, but he was not made immortal. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and could see wrinkles forming above his head.
The soul ages the body. For one cannot dwell without killing the other. Yet, I must retrieve it, he said to himself, as he began to read The Grand Grimoire of Hermes Thrice Great. He wanted his beauty back and began concocting his Elixir of Youth which took the rest of the night to create.
Drinking it, his body twitched and ached as his skin tightened back to his thirty-year-old self. Solon’s mind was a bit shaken after the elixir did its bidding, so much so that he did not realize he was not alone.
“Oh what a pity it is, to be born to die. What a terrible existence,” Baron Samedi, said as he emerged from a dark corner. Solon rolled his eyes trying not to acknowledge his presence.
“And you know what's worse than living as a human? Living as a human with no soul,” Samedi said, holding up a small vial with a blue light inside of it. Solon swallowed hard but remained calm.
“What do you want?”
“Me? I don’t want shit from you. I’m the one who has what you want. Remember? But that’s the small price you pay for not fulfilling your pact.”
Knights of Enmity: The Barons Have Fallen (Descending Fires Book 1) Page 9
