A Web of Crimson

by Alexander G R Gideon

  One with a knife came in low, trying to drive the blade into my belly.

  “Prohibeo te,” I shouted.

  The man stopped as if his feet abruptly rooted to the ground. I spun my will in a glove of air around about my fist and struck him in the face. The first spell collapsed, and he sailed into the other two men, bowling them over.

  Have you lost your mind? Vex screamed in my head. You cannot use magic like this in front of normal humans.

  They attacked, I responded, gathering will as the last two tried to clamber to their feet.

  They are normal humans! Put them to sleep for heaven’s sake!

  My ears burned red at the simplicity of Vex’s solution. I kindled will and said, “Dormite.”

  The spell settled over the last two like a blanket. Their eyes rolled back in their heads, and they collapsed. Moments later, their snores filled the little courtyard.

  And you wonder why the Synod thinks so little of you, Vex hissed, his anger smoldering. You say you want respect, but you show nothing but poor judgment and cause nothing but harm. No wonder the Archmage calls you the wickedest man in England.

  His words pierced deeper than any blade.

  I took in the sight before me. Our fight left four men strewn about the courtyard. Two slept peacefully without a scratch. The other two…well, I might as well have been a champion boxer fighting a toddler. I knelt by the man I had thrown against the wall and opened my Second Sight. My assault had fractured multiple ribs and broke his elbow.

  If I had said nothing, you would have left him here with injuries he could never recover from, Vex said, digging the knife deeper.

  I kindled will into a healing spell and laid my hand upon him. Once I put him back to right, I did the same with the second man.

  Fortune favors you that these men hold no societal standing, Vex said after I healed them. Word will not likely reach the Knight Mages. Think before you act.

  “Shut up!” I shouted into the courtyard, not caring who heard. “I understand that I erred, but they attacked first. I defended myself, and I put them back together.”

  No reason existed for breaking them in the first place. Remember, you held their lives in your hands. Not the other way around. He fell silent.

  I screamed a curse at him but received no response.

  It took a moment to calm myself and clear Vex’s final words from my mind. I needed to get back to my hunt. Checking my finding spell again, I found Jones closer than ever before. In fact, he raced toward me. I hurried from the little courtyard toward my mark, the pull of the spell growing stronger with every step.

  I entered another small courtyard. Windows lined the walls of this residential section. The finding spell pounded in my head like tribal drums. I almost stood on top of him. Straining my ears, I listened for footfalls but heard nothing.

  Opening my Sight, the swirling eddies of magic permeating the ancient city lit up the courtyard. I cast about, looking for the man I lost my day searching for. I saw nothing, and no one. But still, the drums beat on.

  Something solid landed on my shoulder, causing me to stumble, and a furry head rubbed my face. The drums ceased as it continued to rub against me, purring loudly, and I realized what I had spent the day chasing.

  A damn bloody cat.

  5

  The Salisbury

  The sun had westered while I had chased my feline friend around the city. The cat in question rode my shoulder as I emerged out of the alley and back onto the street proper. In my Second Sight traces of magic rested upon her, but nothing out of the ordinary. Cats possess a natural magic, mostly for protection and mischief, which makes them desirable as familiars. I reached up to scratch her chin, and she extended her neck, purring against my ear.

  “What a bloody thorn in my side,” I said.

  She purred louder in response, and I found it hard to remain angry.

  God help me, I had wasted the day chasing a cat. I felt like a fool for not realizing the hair in the envelope wasn’t human.

  I dropped my hand, and the tabby leapt from my shoulder. She raced across the street, darting between legs and carriage wheels toward an establishment on the far corner. Through the failing light, I read the name upon the brick façade. The Salisbury. A public house from the number of patrons bustling into the place. One particularly well-dressed gentleman opened the door, and the cat slipped inside. At least the place came with a recommendation from my new friend.

  The lure of a good drink persuaded me to follow rather than hail a carriage and return home. When the way cleared, I hurried across the street, wind whipping at my scarf. I ducked inside, removing my hat, thankful to leave the cold behind.

  I breathed in the smell of pipe smoke and good drink and smiled. The barkeep kept the dark wood of the wrap-around bar and tables polished to a shine. Couches and armchairs littered the main room, all comfortable and inviting. A pleasant warmth presided, partly from the sheer number of patrons talking, laughing, and drinking around me. I straightened my jacket and weaved through the crowd toward the bar.

  The barkeep came to me, all smile and kind eyes. “What can I get you, sir?” he asked. The rosy tint of the man’s cheeks told me he enjoyed the night as thoroughly as any of the patrons.

  “Something strong to warm my bones.”

  He spun and grabbed a bottle from the top shelf behind him, poured a generous portion into a glass, and slid it toward me. With a grin he said, “Irish. You’ll not find a better whiskey.”

  “Perfect! How much?”

  “Tuppence.”

  I threw twice that on the bar. He deposited the coins into the register beneath the counter, though a tell-tale clink told me the extra coins made it into his pocket instead. I grinned. A man after my own heart.

  “Can you recommend a good spot to warm up and get away from the crowd a bit? The devil himself planned this day for me, and I feel a bit less than my best.” I leaned over the bar so he could hear me.

  “Try the sitting rooms in the back. There’s a fire going in each, though I can’t promise you won’t find them full.”

  I thanked the man, took my drink, and dove back into the throng. As the bartender promised, fires burned in each of the cozier sitting parlors and the couches and chairs became lusher. All seemed full, except the last room at the back.

  A couple sat in matching armchairs, one on each side of the fire. Both young, perhaps even more so than I. The man’s light skin stood in stark contrast to his dark hair and gave him a stormy appearance. I envied the spectacular curl of his mustache. A handsome, well put together man who knew his style. I liked that.

  The woman sat straight in her chair, eyes closed, absently petting my feline friend who groomed herself. With her high cheekbones and long eyelashes, the woman reminded me of the paintings of the kings and queens of old. Despite her regal air, her dress seemed ill-fitted to her, as if made for someone else originally. Then she opened her eyes and fixed me with her gaze. I froze in my tracks. She studied me as a soldier might study their enemy on the battlefield.

  A shiver ran down my spine as she took me in, and I swallowed hard.

  “Can we help you?” she asked, her voice like ice. The man glanced over when she spoke, giving me a once over.

  I cleared my throat, trying to settle myself. “Terribly sorry to disturb. The lovely lady there led me here.” I pointed to the cat purring in her lap. “We met outside, and she suggested I join her.”

  “Always good to meet a man Frisker approves of,” the man said, standing and extending a hand. I took it and we shook, his grip firm and confident. “Your name, sir?”

  “Crowley, sir. Aleister Crowley.”

  “Damn my soul,” he exclaimed with a laugh. “I didn’t expect to meet you like this, Mr. Crowley. Frisker chooses her friends wisely indeed.”

  “Apologies, but how do you know me?”

  “George Cecil Jones, at your service.” He bowed. “You received my letter, yes?”

  Warning bells r
ang in my head. Of course the cat whose hair had fallen into the envelope belonged to Jones, but how curious she’d lead me to her master in a place like this. I don’t believe in coincidence.

  “I did.” I opened my Sight and the otherworld slipped into view. London’s ancient ambient magic swirled about us, but the couple before me seemed normal. More curious still. I closed my Sight and said, “A pleasure to meet you before initiation day.”

  “Indeed, but my manners escape me. Let me introduce Miss Elaine Simpson.” He gestured to his companion. “Another well-recommended neophyte I take pleasure in sponsoring.”

  “Charmed.” She extended her hand, her voice so full of sarcasm I felt it in the air.

  I took her hand and kissed the back, earning me a roll of her eyes.

  “Please, join us.” Jones gestured to an empty chair.

  I glanced at Miss Simpson, who stared daggers at me still. I refused to allow her to cow me. “With pleasure.”

  “Splendid.” He dragged the extra chair into position. Miss Simpson narrowed her eyes, clearly unhappy.

  “Mr. Baker regaled me with tales of your research and exploits,” Jones said, giddy as we settled into our places. “I found it most intriguing.”

  “Did he?” I said, sipping my drink.

  “Indeed! Your research in the Black Forest fascinated me most of all.” His casual mention of the events in the Black Forest made me flinch. “Tell me, how fared your search for Fae creatures?”

  “Less fruitful than I hoped.” I took a much longer drink of my whiskey this time.

  “Disappointing.”

  “To say the least,” I said with a strained smile. In fact, I called it a goddamn tragedy.

  Before my mood could sour further, Jones leaned forward and said, “Well, what of your most recent excursion to the Matterhorn? Did you find yeti?”

  “Not quite.” The bloody bastard found me. “I believe I saw one, though. I even managed to collect a sample.”

  “Wonderful,” Miss Simpson said suddenly, her tone dripping dispassion. A masterful interjection, halting the entire flow of our conversation. She scratched under Frisker’s chin, a little grin on her lips.

  Two could play this game.

  “And what of you, Elaine?” I asked, reveling in the way she bristled when I used her first name. “What gave you an interest in the esoteric?”

  “Well, Aleister, I hardly think that any of your business.” She plucked Frisker from her lap and deposited her into Jones’, then stood and gave him a little curtsy. “I enjoyed meeting with you, Mr. Jones, but I must adjourn. Good night.”

  With that, she bustled away, not giving me even a second glance.

  I rarely met someone who so instantly wished me dead. In fact, I only expected such a reaction from a fellow Knight Mage. I opened my Sight to watch her leave, and once again spied no trace of magic upon her.

  “You’ll find Miss Simpson a very…difficult person at times,” Jones said after she left. “I hope you won’t think badly of her. The leader of our Order harbors high hopes for her.”

  “The thought never crossed my mind.” I said. “What can you tell me of Samuel Mathers?”

  “A brilliant man, Lord Mathers.” A beatific look settled on his face. Lord, he called the man. Curious. “But you’ll discover that for yourself soon enough.”

  We fell into companionable conversation after that. I tried to coax more information about Mathers from him, but blood came easier from a stone. He did let slip one important piece of information though; Mathers owned a townhouse on Park Street. Still, I rather enjoyed Jones’s company and we talked while the fire burned to embers. Eventually there came a lull in our conversation and I stood, much to the displeasure of my feline friend who’d settled onto my lap at some point.

  “Well sir, it grows late, and affairs require my attention at first light.” I extended my hand toward him. “I enjoyed your company immensely.”

  “And I, yours, my friend.” Jones stood, took my hand, and stepped close. “I shouldn’t grant this information to an initiate, but as I fancy you’ve already deciphered the missive, I see no harm. The judgment and induction ritual will happen at eight tomorrow evening. With how late we reached out to you, we never expected your presence at the ritual, but you will impress the Order if you attend.”

  My smile widened, and I patted his shoulder. Of course, his letter sat in a drawer in my desk, forgotten and undeciphered. “I’d be delighted to come, sir.”

  He beamed at me and threw an arm around my shoulders as we made our way to the door. Outside, we said our goodbyes, and when he turned to leave, I reached up and plucked a few hairs from his head. I needed some way to find the ritual, after all. And this time I knew I had the right hair. I pulled a vial from a pocket and tucked the hairs inside.

  Now to pay Mr. Mathers a visit.

  6

  A Little Breaking and Entering

  Aleister, stop. Someone approaches.

  I froze, my hand on the knob of Mathers’s front door. As a pair of constables rounded the corner, I checked my obfuscating spell and found it still active. Obfuscation remains the closest thing to true invisibility. It warps the senses of those around the caster, drawing their attention away. These two seemed to expect no trouble as they walked their beat, but I still didn’t dare move, lest I break the spell. I didn’t wish to break into Mathers’s house in the presence of the constabulary.

  The constables passed without a second glance. I breathed a sigh of relief when they finally slipped out of sight.

  Too close, Vex admonished.

  I waved him off and turned back toward Mathers’s front door, a gaudy, crimson thing I didn’t much care for. Mathers’s abode stood on Park Street, one of the few places in the city outside the reach of the factories’ smokestacks. Prime real estate. I owned an incredibly lush flat on Chancery now, but the residences here near Hyde Park made my flat seem a hovel. Mathers did very well for himself to afford to live here.

  I opened my Sight and found no magical protections on the door. Curious.

  With caution, I wrapped a hand around the handle and felt the keyhole above with a thumb. The metal felt rough and jagged against my skin. Odd. I probed the tumblers with my will and found fresh scores and scrapes. Someone had fiddled with this lock recently.

  I pushed my will further until a tiny click sounded. With a turn of the handle, the door swung open, silent on well-oiled hinges. I slipped inside, closing the door and locking it behind me. Kindling will, I whispered into the darkness, “Exsicca.” A cloud of steam erupted around me as the snow evaporated from my clothes.

  Dry now, I opened my Sight, and the light of the otherworld dispelled the darkness around me. A hall stretched before me, bare save for a little table with a vase of flowers upon it. Odd, this late into winter. I gazed up the switchback stairs leading to the higher floors. I didn’t know Mathers’s routine, but I hoped he lay asleep upstairs. I listened, straining for a sign of anyone awake in the house. I heard nothing.

  What do we search for? Vex asked as I moved down the hall.

  Something to reveal Mathers’s intentions for the Golden Dawn. I ran my hand across the wall as I went, searching for a recess or grooves. Or perhaps give us insight into the status of Mathers’s blood.

  I let my will flow around me, searching for anything out of the ordinary. Halfway down the hall, I felt something odd in the wall. I ran a hand across it, probing with my magic, and found a door. Curious. I felt around, searching for a handle or switch to open the hidden passage. A few moments later, I found a panel flush with the wall. It slid inward with a click when I pressed, and the seam of a door appeared.

  “Clever,” I whispered as I crept into the room beyond, pulling the door closed behind me.

  I expected to find an office, or maybe a ritual space inside. I certainly didn’t expect to find an entire two-story library secreted within the walls. Shelves lined both stories, and a narrow balcony circled the second floor. Books filled t
he shelves, all meticulously categorized. I took one from a nearby shelf with a German title and opened it. I didn’t speak the language but judging from the diagrams, the book contained occult knowledge. No wonder he hid this all away. Polite society couldn’t know Mr. Mathers fancied himself a magician.

  I navigated the maze of bookshelves, scanning the titles as I went. An impressive assortment, though half of the collection contained nothing more than superstitions. I opened my Sight to scan the tomes and saw no trace of magic. Tucked away in the back of the room was a desk. An ornate affair of solid, polished mahogany that made me more than a little envious. Papers, ledgers, and leather-bound journals sat haphazardly across its surface, the only chaos in the house so far. Mathers’s meticulous organization failed to reach his work and research, apparently. Sitting in the chair, I searched through everything. Reports of business dealings, correspondences with out-of-country acquaintances, and even musings and drafts of rites meant for the Golden Dawn, but nothing that screamed “blooded magician.” I bent to search the drawers but found them locked. I kindled will, intent upon remedying that.

  Something moved in the room with me.

  The soft shuffle of feet approached, and I slipped from the chair to the floor. Mathers perhaps, or one of his servants.

  My heart pounded in my chest, and I shook my head. No reason to fear. Whoever entered couldn’t see my soul flame, and I saw no candlelight. I peeked around the edge of the desk. No one. I crawled toward the nearest stacks, intent to lose myself in them. I’d gone no more than a foot when the point of a blade pressed against the back of my skull

  “You don’t belong here,” said the woman holding the blade.

  I knew this voice.

  “Ms. Simpson?”

  “Crowley. Why doesn’t it surprise me to find you here?” she said, her blade never moving.