“I’ve no idea what you mean,” he said casually. Still, I heard the hitch in his words. “Will you take the mission?”
“Yes,” I said, perturbed by Julian’s unease. I’d never seen the man waver, even in the face of gravest danger.
“Jolly good,” Julian said, putting on an air of cheer. “I’ll see you in London, then. You will receive all pertinent information once you arrive. Good day, sir.”
He disappeared, like the storm suddenly devoured him whole. I had no idea how he accomplished it, as I’d not felt the man kindle a spell. The wind howled outside the circle of protection, and a shiver ran down my spine. What had I gotten myself into?
3
Rimmed with Frost
That cabinet contains delicate equipment, please take care,” I panted, hurrying after the large man carrying my ebony alchemy cabinet up the stairs to my new London flat. It swayed this way and that, the doors threatening to open at any moment and scatter my vials in the snow.
He met my gaze with a smirk. “I go’ it. Don’t you worry none.” As if to prove he had it well in hand, he jostled the cabinet, which only made my heart flutter in panic.
“I said be careful, you great oaf.” I rushed forward to try and catch the cabinet should it fall.
“Wha’ you call me?” The overgrown sack of meat’s expression grew stormy.
I stepped up to him and kindled will into a terror spell. “I didn’t stutter. You will handle my possessions with care, or I’ll make your insides your outsides.”
His fear blossomed like a black rose while those around him laughed. “You gon’ take tha’ Delfin?” One of the other porters called him. “Show ‘im how you became the best bare-knuckle boxer in the East End.”
He glanced around at the expectant faces of his fellows before meeting my eyes. After only a moment, he averted his gaze, bowed his head and continued on with the cabinet. The laughter died.
“There’s a good lad,” I said as he left. I turned my attention to the other porters, all of whom stared at me now. “Go on, then.” I waved them all off, and they returned to work in silence.
You went too far, Vex scolded.
You prefer I use my fists?
Leave the petulance to the children, Aleister. Too quickly you resort to magic where words suffice, especially when you misplace your anger.
Vex’s words rang true, though I loathed to admit it.
Julian made the decision to permanently move me from Surrey to London. Most likely because he knew I wouldn’t have taken the mission had I known it required relocation. By whatever magic the man used, he arrived in England well before me. He secured a flat in the city and began the process of having my effects transferred before I even boarded the train home. I arrived in Surrey to find it nearly empty and men moving the last of my possessions. Julian left a missive explaining the Synod wished for me to bolster the ranks of the Knight Mages stationed in the city. A pretty way to say they wanted me where the Archmage could keep an eye on me.
I studied the brick face of my new abode. Like many such buildings in London, you could only barely tell it was brick. Though it stood in one of the nicer neighborhoods in the city, the soot showed no mercy and painted everything black. Turning, I scanned the streets in hopes of seeing Julian’s face. Few walked the streets at all. A week remained before winter, but Father Frost had long since settled in and worked tirelessly to freeze the city solid. While not as frigid as the Matterhorn, the London chill seeped into the bones. The few neighbors brave enough to head out did so in well-tailored furs and overcoats, every thread and button a display of affluence. I pulled my own greatcoat closer around my neck as the wind whipped my brown hair in front of my eyes. It had grown long while I traveled for the Knight Mages, a blessing that kept the frostbite from my ears.
When the last of my possessions made it safely inside, I followed. While not as large as my house in Surrey, I had no complaints about 67-69 Chancery Lane itself. It featured two bedrooms, a quaint sitting room, a lovely kitchen, and a stunning study. Life in London had never appealed to me, but the flat made the prospect more tolerable.
I slid down the hallway, dodging the porters. My sitting room looked mostly finished, though the haphazard placement of my armchairs and couches suggested a maelstrom made its way inside. As I stood there deciding how to fix this fever dream of a sitting room, a small fellow with a ragged jacket and hat approached. He smiled, revealing a mouthful of crooked and broken teeth.
“Can I help you, lad?”
“Aye sir.” He reached into his jacket, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to me. His hand shook in his frayed glove. “We found ‘is on your desk.”
“Thank you.” I took the letter, and the little fellow tipped his hat and turned. I reached out and touched his arm, saying, “Wait a moment.”
The lad looked confused as I tucked the letter under my arm, peeled off my leather gloves and held them out to him. “Take these. They should fit you, and I think you’ll find them much warmer.”
“Wha’ you mean?” he said, not moving.
I smiled, took his hand, and put the gloves in his palm. “I imagine your fingers freezing off might make your work difficult.”
He took them, though he seemed unconvinced. I gave an encouraging nod, and he stripped off his old gloves and put the new pair on. He smiled, flexing his fingers and making the leather creak. “I ain’t ever felt nothing so warm. Thank you, sir.”
“No thanks needed.” I patted his arm again. He hurried off, and I turned my attention to the letter.
My mood soured.
Blue wax impressed with the image of a sphinx.
The seal of the Knight Mages of the Crown.
I broke the seal and pulled the parchment free.
I squinted at the script but couldn’t make it out in the gloom. Leaving the sitting room behind, I headed back down the hall to my study where the movers still worked to bring in my books. The sun trickled through the window behind me as I sat at my desk and brought the letter into the light.
Aleister.
I made contact with a man named George Cecil Jones of the Golden Dawn. He’s been tasked with finding a new initiate. I strongly suggested you as a supreme candidate, and Jones agreed.
Once you receive a letter of invitation, follow his directions, and he’ll bring you before the Order. All of my intelligence leads me to believe finding Mathers will prove no issue once you are admitted into the membership.
I’ll remain in London for some time, though the Archmage requires my services elsewhere. If you need assistance, send for me.
Best wishes and good luck,
Julian Baker.
I folded the letter, placed it back in its envelope, and deposited it in a side drawer of my desk. Well, that solved my issue with gaining entrance to the mysterious Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn. The letter bothered me though. I’d never known Julian to be so curt. I still couldn’t shake the feeling there was something larger at work here.
Aleister! Vex exclaimed, making me jump
What?
The little fellow you gave your gloves to just stole your vial of powdered ruby.
I glanced toward the man in question, and sure enough, he hunched over my stock, his hand in his jacket, and my vial of powdered ruby missing. My heart sank.
“You there, in the gray jacket.”
The man halted, his hand whipping out of his pocket. “Yes sir?” He turned, his tone casual.
“Do you have children?”
The man blinked, confused. “No, sir.”
“Do you hope to someday?” I asked, my tone jovial.
The man smiled, thinking himself in the clear. “Yes sir, I do. As soon as I meet the right lady.”
“Well, if the thought of every single one of your children being born a leper displeases you, return my vial.”
The man recoiled. The others stared daggers at him, and he glanced around, a plea in his eyes. None came to his aid. He bowed his head, took the vial from his coat,
and returned it to its slot. Then, he stripped off the gloves I gave him and held them out to me.
I shook my head. “I don’t take back gifts. Even from thieves.”
Tears gathered in the man’s eyes, but he restrained them. He nodded once, turned and hurried from the room. The others gawked at me. I ignored them and turned to gaze out the window at the filth of London.
The divine help me, I hated this city.
After several hours trying to direct the help, a feat akin to herding snakes, I played the part of Saint Patrick and banished them. I spent another day hefting and sweating to put everything in its proper place. On the second night, while enjoying a moment putting pen to paper in my study, the alarm wards on my door sounded. The alert pounded between my eyes as a rhythmic headache. An effective annoyance intended to wake me from even the deepest sleep. With a sweep of my will, I ended the spell and stood, my shadow dancing across the bookshelves in the flickering candlelight.
Midnight passed some time ago, Aleister, Vex thought at me. Take the proper precautions.
Yes, yes.
With a thought, I kindled a soft blue flame in my palm. Soul-fire. Deadly if wielded correctly, though most used it for a light source. I slid into the hallway, feet silent, hand raised in preparation, ears straining to hear movement or fiddling with the lock. Nothing. As I approached the door, the mail slot flipped up and a letter dropped to the floor.
Hurrying to the little window next to the door, I pushed the curtains back to see the faint outline of a woman retreating through the snow.
Curious.
I let the curtains fall back into place and with a flick of will, the letter leapt from the floor to my hand.
Must you use magic for everything? Vex asked, his presence in my mind heavy with displeasure.
Oh, shut it, you. ‘Do as thou will shall be the whole of the law,’ remember? The pressure on my mind lessened. Allow me my pleasures!
I have allowed you more than your fair share of pleasure recently, Vex said.
I smiled at his scolding. Admittedly I had had some distraction while setting up house. Three, for exactness sake. Named Celia, Ann, and James. Well worth the money, too.
You reach for magic the way a drunk reaches for the bottle. It does not solve everything. Did the centaurs not teach you that lesson?
Heat rose in my face, and I took a breath to calm myself. I will never forget.
Then restrain yourself. The Synod places no trust in you because you act without thought. You wield great power, but you must show you also possess the brains to back your brawn.
A torrent of excuses and defenses rushed to mind, but I kept them to myself. I deserved this chastisement. I turned and took the envelope back to my study. Letting the soul-fire wink out, I opened a drawer and rummaged for my letter opener. Vex’s satisfaction suffused my mind as I slit open the envelope. It contained a short message, written with tight, neat lettering. It stood in stark contrast to Julian’s flowing, sweeping script. I pegged Mr. Jones for a rather pent-up person.
Mr. Crowley.
We of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn watch you closely, and you impress us. If you wish to unravel the great mysteries of this world, we extend a hand to you in welcome.
Where five crows fly, six will die.
And their death births the beast
Who shall this world devour.
Void shall be all, at Twilight’s fall
And there we two shall meet.
We eagerly await your arrival
G.C.J
Gobbledygook.
“Mystical orders” proclaimed that they alone held the answers to the mysteries of the world, but only to stroke their own egos. I opened the envelope wider and searched inside. A tiny hair rested at the bottom of the envelope. It should prove far more useful than his riddle. I extinguished my candles, smiling into the darkness. Mr. Jones had quite the surprise in store.
4
The City of Soot
George Cecil Jones was the fastest man alive. No other explanation existed for why, after more than four hours of chasing him, he still eluded me. Breathing hard, I leaned against the corner of a building, rough brick under my palm. I stood at the corner of…of…the divine only knew where. I lost my direction somewhere amid the twisting back alleys as Jones raced through like the wind itself. A horrid stench assailed my nostrils as I tried to still my swiftly beating heart. The locating spell I cast with the man’s hair nudged me northeast, eager for me to find him. I began to think it an impossible task.
A gust of wind blew across me, and I wrinkled my nose. No place in England smelled quite as foul as London. Even when the horse shit froze solid in the streets, the stink of filth permeated the air. I brushed a bit of snow fouled by the smokestacks from my shoulder and glanced at the soot-stained faces around me. Hard faces with hunger in their eyes. They barely spared me more than a glance before continuing about their business. I shook my head at the paradise of industry around me. Many touted the city as the heart of the British Empire, but its disgusting state spoke volumes of the Empire’s rule.
The pull of my spell grew weaker. Did Hermes himself carry the man? At this rate, if I wished to catch up, only one option remained.
Aleister, no. You will draw too much attention if you open a gate here, Vex said, his disapproval too reminiscent of my father.
Then I’ll find a more private spot.
I hurried across the street toward a dirty alley, squeezing between two plainly dressed women. I winked at one as our bodies brushed together and she blushed red. The thin gap between the buildings resembled a trash heap more than an alley. Nasty, but it kept others from lingering. I concentrated, following the pathways within until the swirling energies locked inside the fourth gate, the gate of air. With a hard push of will, it opened. Energy coursed through me, making my body airy and weightless.
A smile spread across my face as I opened my eyes. The power flowing from an open gate always left me feeling intoxicated. The energies from the air gate filtered the smog and ash, giving me the sweetest breath I’d taken since arriving in London. I focused the power into my legs, gathered the air behind, and launched myself down the alley with a sound like a cannonball. Opening the fourth gate lent me greater control over spells rooted in the element of air. Hermes might aid Jones, but as I blew through the alley, I felt like the Greek god himself.
The alley ended in a T-shaped intersection, and a small boy dressed in ragged clothes walked out from the left side. No time remained to stop before I crashed headlong into the lad, so I did the only thing I could and jumped. The boy heard me and watched wide-eyed as I sailed over him.
Putting so much into the jump forced me to twist in midair to keep from slamming into the wall. Focusing will into my soles to allow me a bit of traction, I planted my feel upon the brick and kicked off, taking the right branch to keep me heading toward Jones. The boy still gawked after me when I glanced over my shoulder.
I passed several more urchins in the alley, factory children mangled beyond repair. Many were missing fingers, hands, and one his entire left leg. The mills and workhouses chewed them up and spit them out as fast as the poor citizens of London could make them.
The alley ended and I found myself back on the main road where I slowed, not wishing to draw attention to myself. Carriages crisscrossed the busy street, the din of the crowd deafening. The people about seemed nicer dressed, and the slush gray instead of black. Jones felt closer now. If he slowed, I might overtake him.
A hunched woman slipped from the shadows of an awning next to me. Face hidden in the folds of the filthy thing she wore as a coat, she pawed at my jacket, saying, “Alms for a pitiful woman, sir? Help me fill my belly.”
“Away with you beggar, you’ll get no alms from me,” I waved her off, but when she lifted her face her hair looked brushed, and no dirt marred her skin.
“Well, maybe you can fill my belly with something else?” Her voice became sultry. She ran her tongue acro
ss her pink lips and opened her coat, revealing deliciously full breasts spilling out of her corset. I liked what I saw. She closed her coat and stepped back into a doorway. “Or if you don’t like me, we got others.”
Several other girls lingered on the street around the doorway, all wearing the same disgusting coats. Whores masquerading as beggars. Clever. I smiled at my propositioner and said, “My business takes me elsewhere tonight, madam. But rest assured, I’ll return soon. For all of you.”
She laughed, a sensual, throaty sound. “We’ll be waiting.”
Reluctantly, I turned and made my way down the street once more, the tracking spell insistent. As I passed, I caught a slight floral scent from within the brothel. Sex and opium. My kind of establishment.
I had almost caught up to Jones when he picked up his pace again, forcing me off the street and back into the alleys. The buildings here crowded so close it rendered magical speed useless. The alleys twisted and turned, hampering me further. I passed from a close chasm into a small courtyard where a small group of men knelt together over the click of rolling dice. They wore patched jackets and trousers, the hats upon their heads so beaten, I couldn’t tell their original shape. One looked up and gave a wicked smile.
“What ‘ave we ‘ere?” the man asked, standing. A big fellow, his nose bigger still. The others stood with him, each pulling a knife or club from their coats.
“Lost your way, ‘ave you?” the man asked, hefting a brick in his hand. “Tell you wha’, give us all you got, and we’ll handle you real gentle-like.”
“You don’t want to do this, gentlemen,” I said, gathering will. They’d disregard my words, but honor demanded I allow them the chance to walk away.
“Oh, I think we do. Get ‘im boys,” Mr. Brick shouted. His men roared and charged me.
“Tempestas.” I kindled the spell and sent a funnel of wind at him. It struck him full in the chest, sending him flying into a wall. He grunted, then collapsed unconscious on the ground.
A Web of Crimson Page 2