by Bill Bennett
She began to see images; horrific visions of ritual sacrifices, of burning churches, of a white goat with obscenely large twirled horns in a green field, of a ceremonial knife covered in dripping blood, of a two-headed beast, one male one female, both with serpent tongues and reptilian eyes, and she saw a black marble palace lit beneath by fires.
A sudden excruciating pain seared into her forehead between her eyes. Into her third eye. She started to scream, shaking her head from side to side, faster and faster, to try and rid herself of the now incessant onslaught of nightmarish images. The priest laughed as he watched the spell begin to work its way into the crevices of Angela Maguire’s soul.
But then she stopped, and suddenly she was calm. She looked up at him with eyes that were clear and all-knowing, full of compassion. Filled with love.
It infuriated him. He roared.
It was near dawn when the priest emerged from the dugout under the floor.
He sat down in the recliner-rocker in front of the cold pot-bellied stove, and looked up at the picture of the president with the duct tape over his face.
The woman had been more difficult than he thought. For hours he had struggled to prise her soul free, but without success. Even with an additional dose of Satan’s Sweat, and battering her mind with his most potent imagery, her higher self still clung on ferociously. In more than four hundred years of collecting, he could not recall a more tenacious spirit. He admired this in her. But now, he was exhausted.
Usually, it was easy. Often the guest was in some way predisposed to shift across to the dark. Mostly they had something to gain; personal advancement, unfettered power or higher social standing. Sometimes it was simply wealth that they desired, or the heart of an unattainable love. And for those petty temporal trifles, they were prepared to hand over their soul for all eternity.
But Angela Maguire was different. She did not want anything, other than love and truth and light. He’d not struck anyone like her before. Her only weakness, that he could ascertain, was her love for her daughter. That perhaps was the way to bag her soul.
Lily stood. A very large black man walked into the living room carrying her mother’s suitcase. He was so massive he made the suitcase look like a briefcase. He wore a crumpled brown Brooks Brothers suit over his huge frame, black basketball sneakers on his size 16 feet, and dark sunglasses – even though he was indoors. He carefully put the Samsonite down on the floor in front of Freddie, then stood back and clasped his hands as if waiting for instructions.
‘Lily,’ Freddie said, ‘it was Joe here who helped out the other night. I asked him to tail you and Skyhawk, just in case there were any problems. Lucky I did, because you wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Joe.’
Joe smiled, and shook his head. ‘I didn’t do nothing, miss. I just shooed ’em away, that’s all. It was Sky done all the heroics. Anyways, it’s a real pleasure to meet you.’
He extended his hand. It was as big as a pitcher’s mitt, and even though his touch was soft and gentle when they shook hands, Lily sensed a strength so great that if he had a mind to, he could crush her hand as easily as crumpling a soda can.
‘Thank you, Joe,’ Freddie said.
He nodded again, then turned and padded off. Lily noticed that despite his size, he moved gracefully, and with a coiled power. He would be a good man to have on your team, Lily thought, should these ‘adversaries’ try anything again.
‘Who is he?’ she asked Freddie.
‘Officially he’s my driver. Unofficially, he’s my bodyguard. He’s very capable.’
I’m sure he is, Lily thought. ‘Are things that bad you need a bodyguard?’
‘I appear just as a little blimp on the Golden Order’s radar,’ Freddie said. ‘They leave me alone out here in New Mexico. But given my close relationship with your mother, it’s best to be on the safe side. Now – the suitcase.’
They both turned to the Samsonite.
‘Are you going to open it?’ Lily asked.
Freddie smiled and shook his head. ‘I wish I could. Your mother put a very complex lock-spell on it. Even I don’t have the power to release it. There’s only one person who can.’
‘Who’s that?’
‘Luna Bianca. They call her the Chalk Witch, because she lives up top of the Chalk Mountains, a few hours’ drive from here. She’s an old lady now, and very wise, and doesn’t take visitors – but she’ll see you.’
‘How come?’
‘She’s your great-aunt. And she’s spent most of her life trying to protect our family. At the height of her powers she was Baphomet’s fiercest adversary. But she got badly injured, energetically, and she’s in hiding now. Her house up there is heavily protected.’
‘And she’ll open the case?’
‘Yes, Lily, she can open it for you. But the contents are only for the eyes of an initiated witch. So it means if you want to see what’s inside, you’ll have to become an initiate.’
Lily looked down at the suitcase. She remembered the words in her mom’s letter: I have to go back to the farm to collect something very important which must remain with you, darling, should anything happen to me. It is your birthright, your ancestry, and your destiny.
My birthright, my ancestry, my destiny, Lily thought. And mom risked her life to go back to the farm to get it. It must contain something really important.
She looked up at Freddie. ‘So what’s it involve, becoming an initiate?’
‘Luna will explain it all to you. First there’s purification, then the initiation ceremony itself, which Luna will conduct. She’s one of the most venerated witches in Cygnet, plus she’s a blood relation, so you couldn’t get anyone better to initiate you.’
‘And how long will it take?’
‘That’s up to you, Lily.’
‘What do you mean? Are we talking hours, a day or two? What?’
‘It could take a couple of weeks.’
‘A couple of weeks?’
Freddie smiled. ‘Like I said, it’s up to you. It may not take that long. But it also might take longer.’
Lily looked down at the suitcase again. It looked so . . . ordinary. Much as she was curious to know what was inside, her priority was to find her mother. And spending a couple of weeks going through some hokey initiation ceremony seemed like a huge waste of time.
‘I don’t get this,’ she said. ‘Why do I have to go all the way to these Chalk Mountains, meet this lady, and become an “initiate”, whatever that is, just so I can see inside a suitcase? The professor said we don’t have much time. Why don’t you just go to the governor, and the police commissioner. You know them. Why can’t you get them onto it?’
‘I could, but then they’d assign agents or officers. And because it’s a kidnapping, the FBI would get involved too. I’ve vetted the governor and the police commissioner. I know they’re clean. But I don’t have the time or the resources to vet everyone who might come onto the case. Particularly FBI agents. They take much longer to check out. Remember what I said about Baphomet embedding deep into law enforcement? I don’t mean to sound paranoid about this, it’s just the way it is.’
Lily suddenly wondered whether the investigation into her father’s death had been thwarted by a black witch higher up in the police hierarchy. Maybe that explained why the truck driver had never been arrested.
‘So you’re saying there’s no one we can turn to?’
‘Not outside Cygnet, no.’
‘Then this is my only choice – to go meet this old lady and go through an initiation?’
‘Lily, this “old lady” has dedicated her life to protecting your family. In our circles, she’s not only a grand master, she’s a legend. She warrants a little more respect.’
‘Okay. I’m sorry . . .’
She turned and walked out onto the terrace. The sun had slipped down behind the mountains. The sky was streaked blood-red and crimson. The valley was bathed in an evening wash of purple and pink. She slumped down into a chair and looke
d out over the desert. Freddie sat down beside her.
‘This is so . . . not right,’ Lily said. ‘What they’re going to do to Mom.’
‘I know, Lils. And it’s not fair on you.’
‘I don’t want to do this initiation thing. Even the thought of it creeps me out. I don’t want to become a witch. White or whatever. I just want my mom back. I just want things to go back the way they were.’
She began to cry.
Freddie leaned across, put his arm around her shoulder. ‘They’ll never be the way they were, Lils. I know it’s hard, but you have to realise that. If you ever want to see your mom again, then you’re going to have to accept your destiny.’
Lily remembered her mother’s words in her letter: You have a magnificent purpose that awaits you, Lily. You have the highest calling imaginable.
Lily wiped her eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s all just so . . . overwhelming.’ She hesitated. ‘So if I do this . . . initiation, what then?’
‘You use your powers to help us find your mom.’
‘How? What powers?’
‘In the world of witches, there’s no bond stronger than that between a mother and her eldest daughter. You saw those red names in Henri’s family tree. The greatest potency is handed down to the firstborn female offspring, which is you, sugar pie. If you develop your powers, which are largely dormant right now, then you might be able to communicate with your mom. And find out where she is.’
‘But we’ve only got a few weeks. Until this Unholy night. That’s not very long . . .’
‘It’ll be a crash course, that’s for sure. But with Luna’s help, yes, you should be able to develop enough powers to help us find her.’
Lily looked across at him. Even though it seemed totally bizarre and surreal, for the first time they had a plan. A way of finding her mom. And it involved her. At last she could actually do something to help get her mom back.
‘Before you make a decision on this, though, Lily,’ Freddie said, ‘there’s something you should be aware of. If you go through with the initiation, then you’ll begin to learn our spells and rituals. These are things that have been kept secret for hundreds of years. You can’t change your mind later and decide you no longer want to be a white witch, even if we are successful and we manage to rescue your mom. Once you’re initiated, once you learn our secrets, you’re a witch for life. There’s no going back.’
Lily nodded, trying to take it all in. She looked out across the hills to the moon, which was slowly dragging itself up out of the desert into a sprinkled night sky. She thought of her mom, of that last morning together in the kitchen, when she asked whether she needed a makeover. And later in the garden, singing along together, laughing, hoping they’d sell enough to warrant a lunch at Delmonico’s.
Suddenly something rippled through her, like a wave whispering up a sandy beach on the turn of the tide. She felt herself straightening. Growing taller. She felt metal stirring within her. Hardening. Her mom was her best friend in all the world. Her only friend in all the world. There was really no decision to be made. If there was even the remotest possibility that by doing this, by becoming a white witch, her mom could be saved, then of course she would do it.
‘Okay,’ she said to Freddie. ‘When do I leave?’
Kritta pulled up on a deserted lane on the hill opposite. The moon was now high in the night sky. She’d chosen this vantage point so they could have a clear view of Freddie Maguire’s house. The Hag sat beside her. Andi and Bess sat in back.
‘Why don’t we just bust in there and grab the little bitch?’ Bess asked.
Bess had been a pain in the butt all the way from the Grand Canyon. Kritta put it down to her wounds, which were healing slowly, and so she was tolerant. But it was getting on everyone’s nerves, particularly the Hag.
‘If you don’t shut her up,’ the Hag leaned over and hissed into Kritta’s ear, ‘then I will do it for you. And she will stay shut up.’
The Hag rolled down her window, extended her hand towards the house and snatched at the air with her bony fingers, over and over again, like she was trying to grasp something just out of reach. As she gathered in the energies, she licked her dry lips with her reptilian-like tongue. Then she withdrew her hand and rolled up the window.
‘Bah. The place is white-lighted. If we even approach it, it will make us weak and vulnerable.’
‘What does that even mean?’ growled Bess.
‘It means someone has put a white-light protection cone over the house,’ Kritta explained, ‘to keep out energies such as ours. While they’re inside, in that cone, they’re safe. We can’t get near them.’
‘So rat-girl, we wait,’ said the Hag, and settled back into her seat. She stared over at Freddie’s house.
Kritta nodded.
She didn’t mind waiting.
She was a crocodile.
Marley Davis picked up the photograph of Kritta Kredlich, studied the woman’s vicious face. The detectives’ squad room was virtually empty. This time of night, there were only the late-shifters and the no-lifers. She belonged to the latter group, and could probably lay claim to being its CEO, managing director, president and commander-in-chief.
It still stung, being usurped in her investigation by, of all people, the governor, and his lapdog the police commissioner. How had that doctor managed to pull those kind of strings? And what made the girl, and that goddamn suitcase, so important? There was something going down, or about to go down, and she wanted to know what. And where. And when. And with whom.
She put the photo of Kredlich back in its file, pushed back her chair, rubbed her eyes. She’d been getting so close. After all these years, the abduction of Angela Lennox had provided her the first real point of entry into the hermetically sealed world of Baphomet. And her daughter, Lily, had been the key. With further questioning she was sure the kid would have said something that could have given her the break she’d been looking for.
The girl had attitude, but that was understandable. Why wouldn’t she, given that her mother had been abducted by a bunch of witches. Marley doubted Lily Lennox knew anything about Baphomet and the absolute evil they were capable of unleashing. Shame she didn’t know – because she might have been more forthcoming with information if she did.
Marley pulled out her file on the Golden Order. Her interest had been triggered a few years earlier, after attending a brutal homicide in a bar downtown. A man had been found in a public toilet cubicle, decapitated. On his naked body were carved two intertwining cuts, from his navel up to his neck. Everyone else on the case thought it was just a serial killer’s vanity mark, but Marley thought it could be something more. After extensive research, she discovered that the cuts represented the two horns of a goat, and that it had satanic significance. She investigated further, and began to delve into the dark world of devil-worshipping cults.
That year on her annual vacation, she went to Lyon in France and stopped in at Interpol to take an informal look around. She’d heard they had a special unit that handled cases involving international witchcraft. There she met an intense and overworked law enforcement officer with three days’ growth, hair like it hadn’t seen a brush in a month, and an obsessive interest in hunting down witches. He’d been assigned to head up a task force looking into the activities of a secret satanic organisation called Baphomet.
His name was Olivier Mendes. He was in his early thirties, crumpled and handsome, quick to laugh, always smoking Gauloises. He smelt disgusting. Disgustingly French, and good. For lunch he ate a pound of steak half raw, accompanied by a cheap carafe of Bordeaux. He was the antithesis of everything Californian, and Marley soon fell in love with him.
They spent several passionate nights in her small hotel room in the back streets of the old town, and he told her all he knew about his investigations into the hidden world of Baphomet. He believed that even in Interpol, Baphomet had a high-ranking witch in a senior position. He was probably right because shortly after
Marley returned to the States, she received a distressed call from him telling her that the unit was being disbanded, due to an ‘operational reprioritising of funding’.
Olivier was put onto more mundane duties chasing cross-border racketeers smuggling computer chips into Eastern Europe. Meanwhile all his files on Baphomet were taken from him, but not before he’d managed to save the key intel on his own hard drives.
Marley kept in touch with him. Their relationship blossomed over the internet, and in their off-duty spare time they both became quietly obsessed with finding out more about the Golden Order. What they learnt was that it had an Inner Sanctum in Budapest reporting directly to someone purporting to be Satan. Marley and Olivier didn’t believe the devil actually existed; they figured ‘Satan’ was merely the title of the organisation’s highest-ranking witch.
Baphomet’s world was divided into four quadrants – east, west, north and south. Every country had its own branch accountable to their particular quadrant, and a grand master representing that quadrant sat on the Inner Sanctum. What made them so difficult to pin down, though, was their cellular structure. They would embed into a corporation or government institution for years, sometimes decades, and slowly gain power and trust.
They’d also found ways of communicating that were beyond surveillance, and when called upon by a Baphomet higher-up, they could break from their cells to conduct what they called ‘disturbances’. These ranged from bombings and political assassinations to the poisoning of popular national food lines, or scandals involving a beloved public figure.
Marley got up and walked over to a bench, where a coffee percolator was doing its damage. With deep misgivings, she poured herself a cup.
She walked back, sat at her computer and looked again at an email from an old school friend, now working in cybersecurity for a large corporation. Marley had asked him to discreetly check out the Lennox woman’s website – Light on Light Meditation. It had turned out to be a sham. It purported to be an online class, but the ‘students’ didn’t exist. It was a front for a worldwide network of individuals whose identities and communications had been encrypted with such sophistication it was impossible to crack.