Making Midlife Madness: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel (Forty Is Fabulous Book 2)

by Heloise Hull

  “You want me to go in there? I said I was sorry about peeking into your past.”

  Coronis smiled. “Nonna is the only one who can astral project without effort, well, besides ghosts, but we didn’t know those were getting through until you arrived. I thought all entrances to the realms collapsed when we banished the gods.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, struggling to remember what she’d told me only weeks ago in the basilica. “I think you said there were three. Right?”

  “According to Greek mythology, three. Besides our realm on Earth, there is the home of the gods, which is called Axis Mundi. The entrance was held open by four pillars until the wars. The liminal in-between space is called Nibiru after the Mesopotamian word for crossing-place. It is where demons reside and ghosts. It’s where the archons used to reside.”

  “But they were banished?”

  “Yes, the archons were thrown with the gods they so desperately loved into the Axis Mundi, and the pillars toppled. All access was effectively cut off with their collapse. Demons were either stuck on one side of Nibiru or the other.”

  “Nonna can astral project into the Nibiru, though. And clearly the Council has figured it out. They even let their lackeys do it.”

  Coronis looked at me sideways, the breeze ruffling her icy bob. “Isn’t Aurick a ‘lackey’ by that measure?”

  “I guess, but he’s a good one.”

  “The Council members must have some tool they use to accomplish it.”

  “Yes, some sort of bone dagger,” I said.

  Coronis hummed a bit. “Interesting. As for Nonna, it is highly irregular. She’s a powerful old witch. We should ask her more about her life,” Coronis mused. “I can honestly say I have no idea how she learned such a feat. Until recently, I’d never heard of anyone else astral projecting into Nibiru besides Nonna. It’s a little weird that the Council has that power, too.”

  “Hm, I wonder…” I trailed off, watching my step now that we’d gotten deeper into the cave.

  Coronis pulled out the lantern she used to watch the boys. It glowed a wheaten yellow, and threw soft shadows against the walls. What looked like emerald stalactites dripped a clear substance. “Did she let something slip to you?”

  “No, but she did give me her grimoire. It’s actually the Emerald Tablets of Thoth. I wonder if she learned certain arts and purposes from it. Piero said he’d seen them in action at the court of Elizabeth I and that they hold the secret to immortality.”

  “I didn’t believe in true immortality, but your presence has upended many things I thought were certain,” Coronis admitted. “The gods are immortal, and it’s likely they accidentally left things behind. Items, scrolls, anything of that nature.”

  “Well, maybe we should take another look at the Tablets then.”

  “Yes. It’s too bad you didn’t bring them, although the Library of Alexandria has wonders you’ve never dreamed of.”

  “How do we get there?” I asked, almost slipping on the wet surface. Water seemed to hang in the air, the humidity thick enough to lick.

  “I’m not quite sure what to expect. I’ve never astral projected.”

  “Grand.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  Mist coated our bodies as we ventured deeper, slowly consuming our feet and swallowing our path. Coronis laced her fingers around mine, and I was happy for the comfort. The sound of the waves receded completely, and only the steady drip from the crystals broke the complete silence in the cavern. Soon, we had to bend to avoid scraping our heads.

  “Do you hear that?” Coronis whispered, her voice sounding like a bomb.

  I strained to listen. “Water.”

  Coronis nodded. Her fingers tightened around mine. “You trust Thessaly? She was one of the demons stuck on this side of Nibiru.”

  “With my sons’ lives,” I replied.

  “Okay. Let’s go.”

  We knelt, the rough cave floor scraping our hands and knees as we crawled. The sound of rushing water grew stronger as the light dimmed to a dull halo around Coronis’s lantern. The stars and crescents were little comfort as the roaring grew more insistent.

  A moment later, we emerged into a large cavern with no end. There was no ceiling, only an inky blackness that reminded me of velvet, studded with crushed diamonds. An ocean in the midst of a squall kicked up waves as tall as an ogre. Tied to a boulder on the rocky beach was a boat that didn’t look seaworthy, let alone squall-worthy. Upon closer inspection, it was made of reeds with an aft that curved over the center of the boat.

  “How are we supposed to navigate that?”

  Coronis hung the lantern on the aft hook and inspected the boat. “Look at this,” she said, waving me over. Large orbs sat in a pyramid in the bow. They gleamed and swirled as if they had a consciousness and were straining toward something. An image swirled inside one of the orbs, a boat drifting on calm waters.

  Cautiously, I hefted one over my shoulder and threw it into the water. Instantly, the water calmed, turning turquoise and azure where the luminescent ball landed. “It’s beautiful,” I said, admiring the view. “Like a bioluminescent bay.”

  The calming effect didn’t last long. In a few minutes, the water surged again, swallowing the orb. “I guess we better hurry,” Coronis yelled over the roar.

  We scrambled in the boat and found a long, wooden stick that Coronis used to steer while I hoisted the orbs one by one into the water to create a pathway. The only problem? We had no idea where we were going.

  The waves grew choppy around the boat, their white caps breaking higher. Whirlpools formed off starboard, only to deepen along the port side. I started to worry we would capsize.

  “Coronis, how much farther?” My voice came out shaky from the pitching of the boat. In the time it took me to blink, she’d burst into feathers, flying above the water. She cawed and bucked her head before transforming back.

  “Sorry! Fear trigger.”

  All around me, the cave winked out before returning to normal. “Did you see that?” I panted, completely exhausted from the weight of the orbs.

  “Yes. It’s fine. We’re just passing through the thin veil into Nibiru.”

  “You mean, we’re astral projecting right now?”

  “I think so.”

  “No, not again,” I moaned, as visions from another life crashed around me like a waterfall.

  Chapter Twenty

  December 21, 1559

  Paris, France.

  Catherine de’ Medici.

  I was the most powerful woman in the world. My name was Catherine de’ Medici, and I watched men rise and fall. By my hands, I lifted them up and brought them down.

  They branded me a witch. They accused me of sorcery. If they only knew. They called me the Black Queen. The Serpent Queen. The Maggot Queen of the Tomb. My father was The Prince. Even Machiavelli feared him.

  Orphaned as an infant, I was paraded through the streets on a donkey at the age of ten as a symbol of my family’s defeat. I was humiliated, threatened with murder, thrown to a convent, unwanted.

  Still, I persisted.

  I married a king at age fourteen.

  It was no happily ever after. I was still a pawn.

  It took ten years before I could conceive. The king stayed with his mistress most days and only visited my chambers at night at her request. Humiliated, I still yearned for him like a sickness. I consulted necromancers, sorcerers, and even a mage named Nostradamus. It took ten years, but I succeeded. Eight children. Then came my twin girls.

  Labor should have been simple, but my life was not simple. Those words were not born of bitterness. They were simply the facts.

  It was agony. Victoria was born, but still I labored. Twins, they said, shaking their heads at each other in fear. Joan would not come.

  I did not remember giving the order. Maybe I did. I tended not to dwell on the past. In the end, they had to break the legs of Joan to pull her out. She did not survive the process. But I did. I was a natura
l survivor.

  Then, my king died in a freak jousting accident. Or by his own stubbornness. He’d been beaten, but he refused to surrender. “One more go!” he roared into the lists, his horse frothing through its bit.

  Somehow, I knew it would happen. I had dreamt of blood and his broken body on the ground the night before and woke up in a fit. I had begged him not to go, crying on my knees like a common wench. Nostradamus himself had given me this prophecy:

  The young lion will overcome the old, in

  A field of combat in a single fight. He will

  Pierce his eyes in a golden cage, two

  Wounds in one, he then dies a cruel death.

  I took a broken lance as my royal emblem for the one that went through his eye and into his brain. I inscribed it with the words, “Lacrymae hinc, hinc dolor.” From this come my tears and my pain.

  I wore black in perpetual mourning.

  I was a good queen, but I was Italian. France did not want me. A pity for them as I cared little for their delicate feelings, which they wore like lace on their sleeves. These griefs and losses hardened me into the stone I needed to rule.

  I moved against his mistress now that her power was at an end. I reclaimed all of the things I asked my king for and which he had given her instead. Her jewels confiscated, her chateau handed to me, and her memory decimated. My smile was thin as the crown jewels of France came back into my possession. A petty win, but one I would cherish.

  Then, my eldest died a mere year after his coronation. From an ear infection.

  Today, I would crown a new king of France. My son was too young for this role, which he was never meant to take, a mere boy of ten. But I would be by his side now and forever.

  The incense and chanting overwhelmed even the strongest of men. It made my eyes prickle and my nose rebel. Little Charles wept openly.

  The Archbishop of Lorraine moved to anoint my son, a delicate eyebrow raised to show his apprehension for such a young king. Tears streamed down my son’s pale face as the holy man spoke the church-sanctioned incantation. “À la teste, à l’ estomac, au milieu des deux espaules, et joinctures des coudes, et sur les paulmes des mains.”

  I traced the anointing from his head, his chest, between his shoulders, the insides of his elbows, and the palms of his hands. Three royal garments, each heavier than the last, were wrapped around his thin shoulders. They invested in him the gloves, the ring, and the Hand of Justice.

  Finally, the archbishop settled the crown on his brow. All four nobles had to help keep it steady as his sobs became more wracking. I gritted my teeth. Let him be weak. I was strong enough for both of us.

  I was Catherine de’ Medici.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I gasped like a whale stranded on the shore, but I didn’t feel helpless. The feeling of authority, complete and total power right at my fingertips, thrummed around me. If I reached out, I could grab it.

  Then it was gone.

  Vaguely, I heard Coronis’s voice cut through the ringing in my ears. The mist licked at my prostrate body, swirling as she made her way to me.

  “Ava!” The terror in her voice seared into my aching brain. “Ava, what happened?”

  I groaned, trying to pull myself to a seated position, but thought better of it. The ground was good. The ground was my friend. Why was the ground still churning beneath me?

  “Astral travel,” I coughed out. Rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hand, I finally remembered. I wasn’t on the ground. I was on a boat made of reeds. At least Coronis wasn’t a crow anymore. “Did we make it?”

  “We have arrived.”

  “Good, but just to clarify, we’re not dead, right?”

  Coronis laughed. “No, we made it to the land of the dead totally alive.” She pulled me up the rest of the way, her hands warm and steady. “Take a look.”

  “Oh my giddy aunt,” I whispered. There it was in front of us. The ancient, lost Library of Alexandria. Ghostly forms swayed in front of the grand entrance, bustling about as if they were still alive and merely going about their day. The columns and pediment structure rose from the mist, a marvel of marble and gold. A hypostyle hall of delicate papyrus columns greeted us, the columns themselves carved with elaborate reliefs of mythological stories. No, scratch that. Real stories. I saw Apollo flaying a man, Zeus morphing into a swan, chariots pulled by lions. Stone sphinxes stood guard on either side, their protective gazes inscrutable. Toga-clad ghosts barely noticed us as we staggered out of the boat.

  “Watch your step,” she muttered. “Demons inhabit this realm as well as ghosts. Not all are as domesticated as Thessaly.”

  “What if something attacks us? I haven’t gotten a handle on my mother magic—or the god magic.”

  “We are far from helpless and that’s what we’re here to figure out,” Coronis said. “Let’s go.”

  We kept our heads low and tried to blend in, but it didn’t seem like the ghosts cared much about our presence. It made me wonder what other corporeal beings visited the library. And how often.

  “Do you think there are books here from after the Archon Wars?”

  “Are you asking if it catalogs current events?”

  “Really anything. My vision, the one I had coming here, ended abruptly. I was Catherine de’ Medici, but I don’t know that much about her off the top of my head, and I’m curious what happened. If I can find a link between my past lives, it could tell me something about my powers.”

  “Darling, no one knows that sort of thing off the top of their head.”

  I suppressed a snort. Leave it to Coronis to make me feel better about my lack of an education. “So where do we start? This place is enormous.”

  Open-mouthed braziers dotted the building, crackling flames and spirals of smoke. A globe the size of my living room sat in the middle of the entryway. There was a domed roof with an oculus that mimicked the Pantheon in Rome, but that wasn’t the most impressive part. No, that would be the infinite rows of nooks, niches, and crannies bursting with scrolls.

  “I haven’t the faintest,” Coronis admitted, looking awed. “Even in its time, the Library of Alexandria had many different sections, including one called ‘from the ships.’ Basically, any ship that docked to conduct their trading in the great city was subject to a search and seizure of all scrolls on board. Officials sometimes copied the scrolls and returned them, but usually they confiscated them for the Library.”

  “That’s one way to acquire knowledge,” I said.

  “Yes, but even on the astral plane, I’m sure it’s grown way beyond its previous capacity. At its height, the Library housed over five hundred thousand scrolls. I can only imagine how many it contains today.”

  We began walking down a random aisle. Ghosts bobbed around us, some muttering under their breath with their noses stuck in a text. One bumped into us, but drifted right through and rematerialized on the other side. I shivered from the sudden cold as he passed, but he was so absorbed, he hadn’t noticed.

  “Hey,” I hissed. “That was a book.”

  “Yeah. We’re in a library.” Coronis sort of looked like she wanted to take my temperature.

  “A book,” I repeated, waving my hands like a lunatic. “These are all scrolls. What does that mean?”

  “Of course!” Coronis smacked her head. “Books and parchment weren’t invented until many centuries after the burning of the Library of Alexandria. That means there are newer sections.”

  “Should we ask for directions?”

  “Are we men?”

  “Good point.” I stopped a friendly looking boy who appeared to be a scribe. He wore a white toga with a blue stripe around his stomach. It made me sad to think of all the young lives lost, but they seemed content to live in this wonder for eternity.

  “Could you point us to the modern wing?” I asked.

  The boy flickered and disappeared. He couldn’t have been more than ten. When he reappeared a few stacks away, I saw the back of his toga was blackened with soo
t and burned at the edges. Swallowing my unease, we followed him until the endless scrolls turned into bound, hand-written pages of vellum. I thought I saw paper farther down and perhaps… an electronic tablet?

  The boy pointed and drifted away, so Coronis and I plunged in. “This is going to be tricky,” she said, eyeing the cracked and weathered bindings.

  “I think what you meant to say was that it was going to be impossible.”

  “That too.”

  I tapped my cheek. “What if I tried something?”

  “Acid? I wouldn’t recommend the high.”

  “No. I’m going to reach out with my senses and like… feel around and stuff.”

  “Wow. Very technical.”

  “I am but a slave to my craft,” I sighed dramatically. “Seriously though, I have no idea how to operate my magics. Usually, I close my eyes and sort of do stuff…”

  “We really need to get you trained. You’re way too powerful to be such a clueless novice.”

  “Hey, I’m forty years old!”

  “And still a rookie where magic is concerned.”

  “Good point.”

  I clenched my eyes shut, trying to picture Catherine de’ Medici. I felt the cold weight of the crown from where I tried it on after my son’s coronation while he slept. I imagined myself dressed in black, mourning a husband who never loved me. I could almost picture him lying in the lists, women fainting and men screaming as a large splinter of lance protruded from his golden helmet. The ricochet of pain from that moment frozen in time stung me; I gasped, grabbing my heart and Coronis had to catch me.

  “This way,” I grunted through the pain.

  I followed invisible tendrils as they wove through the bindings. Row after row, stretching to infinity. All of the knowledge in the world, no longer lost but preserved. It was heady to see and imagine what I could learn.

  As suddenly as it started, it stopped. I opened my eyes in front of a beautifully illustrated section. The columns were encircled with frescoes of Neo-Classical images. We had arrived at Catherine’s time. The Renaissance.