Initiate

by Bill Bennett

  He then turned, and smiled at the priest, like a dog having just fetched a bone, waiting for a pat on the head.

  The priest whispered a few more words, the gaze between them intense, then Dan nodded, put the gun in his mouth and blew his brains out in a misty red spray tinged with gristle and grey. He collapsed to the ground. All two hundred and fifty pounds of him. Maybe more.

  The priest walked over, stepped over his body then the body of the gas station owner, capped the Navigator’s tank, walked back to the driver’s door, hopped in and slowly drove away.

  He hated these stops, these impositions. They were a nuisance.

  Marley was woken at 3 a.m. by the buzzing of her phone on her bedside table. At this time of night, or morning, it could only be Olivier in Paris, she thought. She reached over and fumbled in the dark. The phone dropped to the floor and immediately began to vibrate its way under her bed, like a scuttling electronic millipede.

  She lived alone in a small, neat one-bedroom apartment on a steep hill in Lower Pacific Heights, not far from the station. She’d moved in with her boyfriend a few years back, but when she discovered he was gay she inherited the place all to herself. He took all the furnishings, which suited her because his style wasn’t her style. She wasn’t even sure she even had a style. She wasn’t a home decorator.

  She wasn’t a home decorator. Never had been. After his departure, she went out and bought some bonsai plants: little miniature maple and cypress trees and even a tiny fully formed oak, which she enjoyed tending after an insane day chasing bad guys. She liked sitting out on her back porch with a glass of red wine, staring at the perfection of the little trees. She wished the world around her were as perfect.

  Groping under the bed, she found the phone and took the call. In a playful voice she said, ‘Do you have any idea what time it is here?’

  Olivier laughed. ‘America is on French time, no? And if it’s not, then it should be. Actually my darling, I thought you might want to know that I am taking some vacances, so I am coming to see you. You have a few days in which to make the preparations, no?’

  ‘Preparations?’ Marley laughed, slightly irritated. ‘What preparations might they be, Olivier?’

  ‘Cheese. You need to find the proper French cheese. I am not eating your American cheddar crap. It does not come from a cow.’

  Marley smiled. He was like this with mayo as well. He regarded American mayonnaise as only being good for stripping paint. ‘Okay, I’ll try and find some French cheese. Leave it with me.’

  ‘Good.’ He paused, then asked, ‘Do you have any vacation time you can take?’

  ‘I’m owed a bucket load. Why?’

  ‘I want to go to New Mexico. And I would like for you to come with me.’

  Marley sat up, suddenly alert. ‘New Mexico? Why do you want to go to New Mexico?’ She tucked the phone under her chin, grabbed her police-issue notebook from beside the bed. She took a note of the time and began writing.

  ‘You have heard about the Twins, no?’ Olivier asked.

  ‘No. Who are they?’ She wrote down the word ‘twins’ and underlined it.

  ‘They are Baphomet upper-echelon witches. Adepts of the highest order. Basically, they are elite assassins. They answer directly to the Inner Sanctum. If it is true what they say, they have the power to, what you call it, shapeshift into different creatures. I have intel that less than twenty-four hours ago they killed an American academic, a Professor Henri Duprey, in Paris. He was to be a keynote speaker at a seminar on witchcraft at the Sorbonne. This Professor Duprey was from Santa Fe, and the intel I have is that the Twins are now on their way to Santa Fe.’

  Marley scribbled notes furiously. ‘That’s very interesting,’ she said, ‘because the girl I was telling you about, the daughter of the woman that’s gone missing – well, she’s gone to Santa Fe too, to stay with her uncle.’

  There was silence on the end of the phone – silence except for the sound of Olivier pulling deeply on a cigarette, then exhaling.

  ‘This could not be a coincidence,’ he finally said. ‘This will be the first time the Twins have travelled to America. They would not come unless they were ordered by the Inner Sanctum. Unless there was a very big reason.’

  ‘Assassins, you said?’ Marley wrote the word ‘assassins’ beside ‘twins’.

  ‘They only do the big hits. When Baphomet cannot afford a mistake. Or wants to make a statement. It is interesting, no?’

  ‘No,’ Marley said, and then immediately, ‘I mean yes. Yes, it is interesting. But why would Baphomet go to all the trouble over a harmless young girl?’

  ‘Perhaps she is not so harmless as you think,’ he said in his thick French accent.

  Marley thought back on her interview with the Lennox girl – the feeling that she’d withheld an important piece of information. Could that be what the Twins were coming for? Surely they weren’t coming to kill her.

  ‘So in fact this is actually a work trip,’ Marley said in a teasing voice. ‘You’re not really coming to see me, you’re hunting down black witches.’

  Olivier exhaled another lungful of smoke. ‘I will kill the two birds with the one rock.’

  Marley smiled. It didn’t bother her that Olivier would use business to come and see her. She’d do the same, if given the opportunity. ‘I thought Interpol shut down its Baphomet unit,’ she said.

  ‘Interpol may have closed down their investigations, but I have not. I have my ways of accessing information.’

  I bet you do, she thought. ‘I can meet you in Santa Fe if you like. I’d be officially off-duty . . .’

  ‘Me too,’ he said. And then added, ‘We could do officially off-duty duties.’

  In the chill of the early morning, Marley felt her body tingle with anticipation. ‘I’ll look forward to that,’ she said softly.

  A pause, then his voice, intimate. ‘Me too. I will make the airline booking, and send you a text. And don’t forget the French cheeses.’ She could hear the smile in his voice. And then the line went dead.

  She slept restlessly until daybreak, then she pulled on her Asics and went out for her run, up and down the torturous hills around her apartment. Eight miles, hard and fast. Her daily run gave her an edge, kept her sharp. It also gave her time to think, away from the immediate demands and petty politics of the squad room. She finished her run, and stood outside her apartment breathing hard, hands on her hips, sweat pouring off her.

  She was glad Olivier was coming. He had the skills and intellect to see the case from multiple perspectives, to deduce things she would never consider. He applied logic and a keen understanding of human nature to chase down bad guys. In that sense even though he was a technological whiz, he was an old-fashioned sleuth. She looked forward to the hours they would spend together, talking it all through.

  There were too many questions about this case that made no sense. She had to get out to New Mexico as soon as possible, meet up with Olivier, go see this girl’s uncle, and find out what these Twins were up to. The big question was: Why would Baphomet send two elite assassins halfway across the world to kill a sixteen-year-old girl? It intrigued her.

  She went inside and showered, then turned her computer on and googled cheese shops.

  Lily walked over and stared at a large painting hanging above Luna’s fireplace. It was a picture of a beautiful golden-haired woman, rising up out of purple flames into a night sky. The woman wore white robes and in one hand she held a flaming torch. In the other she brandished a sword.

  ‘That’s Artemis,’ Luna said, walking out from the kitchen. ‘Goddess of Light and Protector of the Vulnerable. She’s our Goddess of Goddesses. We sometimes call her Goddess of the Wild Lands. Look at her feet.’

  Lily noticed that her feet were in fact roots, thick ancient tree roots that disappeared into the ground beneath her.

  ‘One of the reasons why Artemis and we white witches are so powerful,’ Luna said, ‘is because we ground into the sacred energies of our plane
t, Mother Earth. Gaia. Those energies give us enormous strength and power.’

  Lily felt a sudden strange connection to this Goddess Artemis. The woman’s image stirred something deep within her that was oddly familiar, as though there was a bond almost at a genetic level – as if Artemis had been, or would be, an important part of her life. Holding the torch, she radiated purity and light, like a saint keeping the darkness away. But holding the sword, she had the stance and gaze of a warrior who would never admit defeat – who would fight to the end for what was right in the world.

  For the first time, the thought of becoming a white witch excited Lily, because if it meant following Artemis, then that would be cool.

  Luna handed her a cup of tea and they sat opposite on white sofa chairs. The room was small and simply decorated; the adobe walls were whitewashed, and all the furniture was timber and hand hewn. The stone floor was covered with woven rugs.

  Lily sipped from the tea, and then asked Luna, ‘So why worship this particular goddess?’

  ‘We white witches are like Artemis,’ Luna said. ‘We’re healers, teachers, protectors of the weak and the suffering. But we’re also warriors.’

  There was a steeliness to Luna’s words. The old woman was wiry thin, and despite her beatific outward calm and advanced age, Lily sensed she still had the tensile potency of a seasoned fighter.

  ‘If the people we love are threatened by the forces of darkness,’ she continued, ‘or if the structures that guide us are attacked, then we’ll fight. We’ll carry our torches into that shadow world and we’ll make it light again. We take our role as protectors very seriously, and if that means battle, we’ll go to battle.’

  She looked at Lily with her piercing pale-green eyes. ‘Lily, let me be quite clear so there’s no misunderstanding – there’s only a few weeks now until the Unholy, when these vile creatures are going to sacrifice your mother to their foul beast of a master, so there’s not much I can do for you in this short amount of time.’

  She paused, and looked up at the painting of the Goddess. Her eyes dimmed with sadness. ‘My time now is short too, I know that. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen what I have to do, and I accept my role in the larger scheme that’s been predestined for us both. So we have to use our time wisely, Lily, you and me, and we both have to understand that what’s to come, as glorious and tragic as it will be, is part of our life’s purpose. Remember this. What you will soon be witness to will be the unfolding of our life’s purpose, yours and mine.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Lily said. ‘What’s to come? You’re scaring me, Luna.’

  ‘We’re not there yet, Lily.’ Luna smiled. ‘You have free will. You can change your destiny, and you’ll have plenty of opportunity soon to do just that – to step off your path. But I urge you not to, as tough as it will be.’

  ‘I don’t care about my destiny,’ Lily said. ‘I don’t care what happens to me. As long as I do everything I can to save Mom.’

  Lily looked up again at the painting on the wall, at the Goddess Artemis in white robes rising from purple flames. She felt a stirring within her, as if the goddess was calling her to step up and join the fight against the dark.

  ‘So when do we start?’ Lily asked.

  Luna laughed. ‘Patience, girl. First you have to go through purification. This involves getting rid of all your earthbound attachments. You have to reset your mind and body to zero so you can take on the new learning that you’ll receive in the initiation. We have to start from a clean slate. I warn you though, it will be challenging. And if you can’t complete the purification, then I’m sorry but you can’t be initiated.’

  ‘Surely it can’t be that hard?’ Lily asked.

  Luna smiled. There was a quality to the smile that immediately worried Lily, as though perhaps this ‘purification’ could be more demanding than she thought.

  ‘If you manage to get through purification,’ she continued, ‘then I’ll initiate you into the Sacred Order of the White Swan, which is Cygnet. I’ll then open up your latent powers, skill you to a basic level with some spellcraft to protect yourself, but I won’t be able to empower you much beyond that. You won’t have anywhere near the powers you’ll need to fight our black foes.’

  ‘Then how can I help my mom?’ Lily was suddenly gripped with panic. Perhaps this whole thing is a complete waste of time, she thought. Maybe Freddie has sent me up here to get me out of the way, or keep me safe, while he handles the search his end.

  ‘Don’t worry, Lily,’ Luna said, as if she’d just heard everything she’d been thinking. ‘You’ll gain enough powers to be of help. Remember, this is your destiny path, if you so choose.’

  Skyhawk, riding Luna’s trail bike, pulled up outside the cottage a short time later. He walked in carrying a hessian bag containing three rabbits, which he’d skinned and gutted. He laid them out on the kitchen table, and began to season them in readiness for cooking.

  Lily watched him – the hunter, the provider, his long-bladed knife hanging from his belt. There was an earthy and elemental quality about him that aroused something primitive inside her. Skyhawk turned and caught her staring at him and she blushed, and quickly looked away.

  Luna put the rabbits into a fire-charred pot, and it seemed that in no time they were sitting down to a sumptuous stew. How had Luna managed to cook it up so fast, Lily wondered. Had she used witchcraft?

  She dunked a large chunk of homemade bread into the gravy of her stew. She was curious about Luna. Freddie had said she was a venerated witch. One of the most powerful white witches alive. She certainly radiated an inner wisdom, but she also seemed so peaceful, and relaxed.

  ‘Don’t let my appearance fool you,’ Luna said, as if she’d read Lily’s thoughts. ‘You will learn that the greatest power comes from the deepest calm. I’m coming to the end of my current cycle on this plane, and I’ve been weakened by past battles, but at my height, believe me, I was hot.’ She laughed. ‘But then I came up against a very powerful black witch, someone as powerful as me, and she injured me badly – energetically I mean. I lost most of my powers.’

  ‘What happened?’ Lily asked.

  ‘I was seeking revenge. They’d killed my sister – your grandmother. She was shot outside a shopping mall in Baltimore . . .’

  ‘The police said it was an accident,’ Lily said. She’d been eight years old when her grandma died. She remembered her mother at the time telling her that Gran had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time – hit by a stray bullet from a random gangland drive-by.

  ‘No, Lily,’ Luna said, ‘it was no accident. They killed her and made it look like an accident, just like they did with your father. They’ve been systematically wiping out our family. And over the years, they’ve done a good job of it. They nearly got me. I was foolish, too emotional. I wanted to strike back straight away, but I was too angry and I was addled with grief, and it affected my judgment. And so I got badly hurt. Learn from my mistakes, Lily. Never allow your emotional body to overrule your spiritual body. As a witch, you will act through the use of spirit. You must never allow it to be tainted by fear or anger.’

  Skyhawk cleared the plates and went out to the kitchen. Lily figured he wanted to give them some privacy.

  ‘I really wish I could do more to help you, because I’m nearly at the end of my usefulness,’ Luna said, ‘and you’re at the beginning of yours.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes you, Lily. You have within you the genetic coding to become a very powerful white witch. The most powerful . . . But even with your hereditary predisposition, it will still take years of training and study to reach your full potential. But if you’re prepared to do that, then anything is possible.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like astral travel, shapeshifting, telekinesis, extra­sensory perception and precognition. You’ll be able to create spells that can do someone harm, or good. You’ll be able to move things with your mind, see into the future, turn yourself into an animal or a bir
d or fish, levitate and fly across a room. Or a continent. All this is possible with the right tutelage, but it won’t happen overnight.’

  Lily sat there, stunned. It all sounded very cool, she had to admit, but too far-fetched to be true, surely.

  ‘We’re really no different from the eastern mystics,’ Luna said. ‘The gurus and the sadhus, the Himalayan holy men, the ascended masters. They can levitate, prophesise, read minds and transport themselves to other places at various points along the cosmic timeline. They can shift into other creatures’ forms. And they can hold their breath for weeks and live without food for years. It’s all been proven and documented. They’ve developed their skills through intense meditation and supreme purification of mind and body.

  ‘What we white witches do is not dissimilar to that. We just read from different texts, that’s all. And . . .’ she added with a wry smile, ‘we’ve never allowed our powers to be documented or studied by academics. That’s why some people call it magic. They don’t understand. It’s not magic at all, it’s just a process of raising our vibrational energies so that we become one with the universe.’

  ‘So if I became a white witch,’ Lily asked, ‘will I be able to do all those things?’

  ‘Yes, as I say, with proper training. You’ll pick it up fast, because of your descendant powers. But that’s in the future. First things first. You have to go through purification, then initiation.’

  ‘And then I have to find my mom,’ Lily added.

  She woke in the night to the sound of thumping somewhere in the house. There was a droning sound too, which wavered and waned. She got up, wearing a white cotton slip that Luna had given her to sleep in. Her bedroom was at the rear of the cottage, and she walked silently down the hallway following the sound.

  A light was coming from Luna’s bedroom. The door was partly open, and a swirling shadow spilled out into the hall. The thumping was loud now and rhythmic, and Lily realised that the drone was a chant, sung in a hypnotic monotone.

  She walked slowly up to the crack in the door, and peered through. There was a mirror on a wall inside, and in the reflection she could see Luna dancing in front of what looked to be an altar. Above it was a painting of the Goddess Artemis. But unlike the picture above the living room mantel­piece, this image was stark and brutal. Artemis wore a crown made of animal horns, and in one hand she carried a bloodied sword, in the other the severed head of a snarling demon. Behind her was a field of carnage. Hundreds of dead and mutilated bodies, the aftermath of a cataclysmic battle.