Finish it up with tursaansydän, Finnish Shaman business. Thundergod symbol. For strength.
That'll do.
Never talked to girls till I turned twenty. Case you're wondering.
First part done. Bear trap, greased.
Drink some whiskey. Smoke some. 11:30 by the time I'm done.
One more rite. Remember, the best magic, the surest, is sacrifice.
My City. I have lived here my entire life. Nowhere else ever recorded as my place of residence. Write it a letter.
Talking about the bars I drank at and the place I bought books at and the people I knew here and the parks I walked through and the hidden places I've seen. Talk about the docks I've walked and the department stores I shopped at and the late night meals bought from servers with deeply stoned eyes and the cigarettes I bought loose from a can for 10cs each and the scumbags I hated and the bands I've seen and the girl I fell in love with, walking down the street, arm around her shoulder.
The shack where Lin and I got those dumplings. The burger joint I loved and Jon hated and the vegetarian place Jon loved. Where I kissed my girl for the first time, where she first let me see her naked, the old one bedder down south. The blood I've seen spilled in alleys and the junkies I've seen shivering and the lost dogs, lost children, lost hopes and the sobs I've heard from alleyways above the streets and the cops I've seen running and the ambulances I heard in the distance like toscins. Fortalice book shops, with the ladders on the ten foot shelves. Chinese New Year, dragons and drums alike. Water, at night, looking down over the city and the harbour.
Tell it goodbye. Ask for strength. Burn the letter. Memories of the City, a sacrifice.
Set up the candles and put the CD in the player with the Devil-mix I asked Bettina to prepare. The triumphant hymns and the ghastly Christian metal and the Gregorian chants for that cliché oomph.
Time to pull the bear-trap jaws apart.
No colours allowed to reinforce the satanic vibe, so we take everything black or red, stick it in another room so we keep coincidental symbolism inert. All clocks off, don't need a stray 666. Flip the carpets so my ward-trap is hidden.
'We all good?'
Bettina nods. Ava says nothing. Mrs. Holofernes finishes her drink. Take off my shoes. Partly for comfort, partly because I don't want to die like a hippie. Incentives.
Take the key of the hotel, electronic swiping thing. It's time.
vi
'Come on if you're coming, bastard.'
There's a knock on the Queen of Hell's door. Stub out the cigarette and answer it.
It's the Devil. He's wearing zebra skin pants, a leather cowboy hat with a skull on the front and wrap around shades.
'You found me.' He grins, too wide on his paper-skin face.
'Did you ever really think you'd get away?'
'No,' I say. Then I spring the trap.
This is now.
Walk back into the lounge room. He follows. Stops dead.
'You.' He hisses it, moving his eyes from Ava to Holofernes.
'So eager to get your hand on me, you never even bothered to scout me out, you arrogant bastard.'
But he ain't listening.
The anger is taking him. Skin like paper on his skull, so thin you can see the blue blood rushing to his eyes.
'Ava, say hello.' Throw that out there, looking to build a bit of chaos in this joint. She glances over at me, back to the Devil.
'Hello husband. I've decided we need to stop all this. We need to go home together. Start in on redecorating the place. I've got some ideas.'
Ease my way onto the carpet.
'She won't save you Lark. She won't keep me from what's mine.'
Say nothing.
'Seriously honey, it's time.' Ava takes a step forward. Satan takes one back.
'We need to be together. It's a new world, here in the future and even the Devil has to adjust.'
She's poison to him. She refuses to take second best, even from Satan. In the shadow of a cruel parent, Ava won't take that from her husband.
Well. Big ups to her.
Look over to Bettina, glance at my wrist. Fingers flash out to me. 11:57. Time is drawing itself out, making me work for it.
'I don't want you,' says the Devil to Ava. 'I don't need you. And you, old slapper, don't think I've forgotten you. Capturing me until you could negotiate a price for your daughter. You'll get yours. I'll have you in hell one day and murder you so completely your story will never have been written.'
Give her this. Mrs. Holofernes doesn't blink. Makes a ward off evil gesture, then two fingers at either side of her throat but he's already back to Ava.
'If you come with me, it's as just another torture-victim. And you'll be forgotten as quickly as I forgot any others.'
Turns. Looks at me. Moves his skull on his neck as smoothly as a tank turret, finding a target. Smiles at me like he's been smiling at me for days. Fear and anger get to fighting inside me. He turns back to his wife.
Here's the rest of the plan.
The rite is based on the Holofernes story, right? The operation hinges on the Devil, coming through the doorway. Then getting him out. That movement between inside and outside. Extimacy and intimacy. The Devil is an outsider, yeah?
He's always an outsider but because he's been sent outside. There's no such thing as the Devil just his meanings. The Holofernes story is about catching the Devil at the one place he's supposed to be, outside and the place he wants to be, inside.
Magic is symbols. The outer world of hell and the inner world of earth.
Combine that with acting out a folk legend with evocations of the actual figures involved in it?
There's some symbolism for you. And that's magic's juice.
It all revolves around Satan leaving Ava's house. I'll stand over the sigil on the underside of the rug, surprise him. Holofernes and Ava live here. He can't come in unless they invite him. He's hungry for me. I have to say yes before midnight and he wants that. Faust story. He's not letting a little magician get away from him. He's proud.
But. He's the Devil. He breaks rules, he never has to obey them. First time we invoked him, when he entered the Night, we saw that.
He was always just messing with Ava.
Tells me at first he's stalking her but she's stalking him. That was the case she offered me.
First story she tells me - Psycho stalker ex messing with her. Just can't get into her house.
Second story is - Devil is scared of her and she's hunting him.
She wasn't telling me the whole truth ever. Here's the Devil uninvited in her house right now. I can't invite him in. Lies.
Fact is, they can't keep apart from each other. Negative and positive. The union of opposites. mysterium coniunctionis. Lazlo, right all along.
The Devil and His Queen, too similar, both manipulative, sparking at each other like livewires.
Plan was, Ava would go to embrace him and that would chase him off. The crosses would keep me safe.
But Ava and the Devil are staring at each other, in a faceoff. Two magnets, both opposite and the same poles at once. Repelling. Holofernes is supposed to break that face-off, terrorise her daughter into action. It's not happening.
See, plans are shit?
Holofernes, she looks over at me. She's a story. Her nature won't change. Stares at me with all the frustration just naked in her eyes. All the times mouthy bastards like me have told her what to do.
I know how that feels. I can't blame her.
But I'm still fucked. She's never going to chase the Devil out of the house. Mrs. Holofernes can't help it. Spiteful and obstreperous, that's her script and she has to stick with it. Prisoner of her own narrative. She wheezes laughter and that catches the Devil's attention. He finally takes his attention off Ava. Looks back to me.
'I'll settle with her later. For now, one piece of unfinished business.'
Bettina hits him like taxes. She knows the plan is falling apart. My speciality is ravelling to
gether threads on the fly. Hers is punching.
Seen her throw some punches before. She worked the Hollow like no fight I ever knew was possible. Seen her kick through security doors like they were nothing.
Never seen anything like this.
Sound of it is loud as a shot. No need for her to hide a telegraph, no need to hold anything back to duck or weave. Pure sucker punch.
No need to protect her muscles, or the bones in her fists. Which is good because her hand shatters to dust.
Devil doesn't even notice.
Reaches for me.
vii
But I been trying to tell you. I ain't new to this.
Sigil on the underside of the carpet wakes up. Every trick I know, every symbol, every derivation of sigilisation, every passion and fear these motherfuckers beat into me. Gaining Jon only to lose him. And giving up the City. For real. That sacrifice.
Every story is a Faust story. And like I told Bettina, like effects like. I can't stop him for long but rules are, the Devil breaks rules.
Magic even breaks that rule.
His hand comes out like a stranglers and he steps on to the carpet. Looks down and looks up at me and his face goes ugly with the fury. Step back, real quick. Trapped. Not for long but we have to move fast.
Glance over at Bettina, cradling that fist. Looking at the Devil's back for another place to strike anyways.
He's trapped. Just for a second. Look to Holofernes but she's still laughing.
Ava, sees he's trapped.
Steps in.
Then.
From town hall, just close by, the bells start to ring.
One
Ava leans in to him. I can see it all. I'm four feet away. His eye switch over to her. Hatred there. Profound, pure hate.
Three
Then love. A man who has found someone one he can quench himself in. Some end, some meaning to a life that's more than just torture and games with mortal lives he couldn't possibly care about.
Five
Her? A greater meaning than just the struggle to be free. Her marriage isn't another chain to her. It's another way to be free, tied not to a mother who drives her under but a partner who is worthy.
Six
Oh, Scarlet. Don't marry me but why him?
Seven
But Scarlet isn't the Devil and she isn't even Ava. Whatever she hopes to gain by marriage, it is not the mutual annihilation of selves these two are undergoing.
Eight
The Devil smiles at her, his story is one of outside power and mandated cruelty. But stories change all the time.
Nine
Vibrations, energy, these are bad models for magic. It's information. They flow together, quicksilver, the kiss they take from each other, their lips meld together, fingers sinking into each other’s skin. Mercury into Mercury, (Information God, Magic God) Water into Water. (Venus, Love God, Sex God)
Eleven
Holofernes fades. Gone to her reward. Ava and Lucifer, melted into each other. One shimmering silvery body. They battled to stay apart, they battled to be together. It took me trapping Lucifer to give him freedom. One final union of opposites. God and Sophia, partnered together. Lazlo's unfunny comedy. Not-self meets self.
Twelve
Gone.
The house is silent.
Just me and Bettina.
No sound at all.
Barely have the courage to move.
Safe. He never took my soul and he had ‘til twelve.
I trapped him. That made the Devil free.
I'm safe.
Bettina looks up at me.
'Fuck my hand hurts.'
Eighteen
i
Back to Lazlo's. Some stories end quiet. First time in a few days, I get across town without a paranoia.
He's drunk as hell.
'Of course I knew it would be about the opposites, boy! It's always about opposites! I remember, when Kenny Baker and Ursula Andress were going out, I said to them -!'
He's off and running with an unlikely story of vertically challenging lovemaking.
Bettina's hand is wrapped. We checked. Growing back bones. She's drinking tequila from the bottle.
'So, at the end... What did I see?'
Shrug, not entirely sure how to answer.
'They kept dancing around each other. One chasing, then running. But they were looking for each other. Each one was defined by the other in opposition but they were also perfect for each other. In the end, we just had to find a space between the outside and inside for them. A freedom trap.'
She frowns. Alright.
Stands up. Walks over to me. 'You really going?'
'Elliot lifts the curse I will. Reckon he'll do it.'
She looks at me carefully.
'You know how to find me, right?'
'Sure.'
Pulls on her parka and a knit cap. Adjusts the eye patch underneath it.
'Those freaks under the ground, they take me back?'
'They will. I'll get Katanya to check on you now and again. You can't trust her. She fronts tough but she's not mean enough. But it comes down to it, she's alright. Any soil from the park where you died? Take some. Any of that will keep you going. '
'No doubt.'
Light up, extend the pack. She takes one and I snap off a light for her. Ask her -
'You got plans?'
'Might go looking for that fine Aristide guy. Fancy breaking off a piece. He's a magician, he can sweat the details how us throwing down works. And you can't tell me, guy with that many bones as he wears, gonna turn this down.' Gestures to herself like a game-show model.
But that's not why she's going. Bettina knows loyalty.
She breathes in deep. Nods at Lazlo.
'You want to make a big scene about it?'
Just look at her.
'Yeah. Me neither.'
She pounds my fist with her good one.
'Holler at you later.'
Turns to the door. Stops, looks around at me. 'You cool Lark?'
Just shrug at her. What else is there to say? She has something.
'Write me a letter. Send it by mail.'
Then. 'Be cool.'
Like that she's gone.
Lazlo starts to pass out and I leave it to him.
Gather up my gear.
Shit. The missionaries notes. The journal. Started all this, kept putting them off.
Pick them up. Lazlo goes under.
Time to read them before I head out. Check it, Lazlo's highlighted the important bits.
ii
May 12th, 1890
With the first part of our journey behind us, Bradford is eager to continue further into the bush. His colic has worsened.
Yeah yeah.
May 20th, 1890
The local people are fierce. Each one darker than evening. Then men a strapping, hardy bunch though they parade quite nakedly
Skip to the highlighted bits. Alright, this seems familiar.
Was confronted not with the horror of the bodies, which, make no mistake, were ghastly. But rather confronted with my own ability to look on them. They were not human anymore, after all. My only concern was that we had not baptized them and I fear for their souls. More proof God's grace has sent us here for a reason.
Bradford was quite beside himself after we stumbled across them. It was a gory sight indeed but I cannot help but be dismayed at his intolerance for the sight of blood. But I should not judge. His father found him medically unfit and he was removed from his service during the Tibetan Expedition without a shot fired. As daddy would say, he's never been in at the kill.
Antoinette is the wife of the chief and she speaks no English but French better than I, Dutch, Spanish and Portuguese as well. We are to meet for a 'women's business' confabulation after dark. Bradford insisted on attending but due to his ill turn and the private nature of women's huts, I have convinced him his presence will be unnecessary I will pray for the unfortunate young men who have died.
And ponder why the sight of so much blood has not perturbed me.
May 22nd
More men killed today. Confabulation delayed.
May 25th
Finally our meeting has gone ahead.
Antoinette, the lady of the tribe, is a regal woman. She's not received salvation and speaks no English besides. I find myself uneasy in a room with her and the other darkies. Although, her strange beauty and authority are apparent. The other women whisper and make jokes about me but Antoinette silences them.
The women speak their native language to her. She speaks in French to me. Hers is a canting version of the language and her accent abominable and French was never a strong point but we find enough ground between us. I think here, of course, of Daniel and his trail before Nebuchadnezzar. We spoke of who was killing tribesmen.
The creature that hunts is called a Hollowed Out Man.
Yeah I know all this. Turn the page. This next part, Lazlo highlighted it so much the original text has been washed out beneath a lurid shade of yellow. Go into his kitchenette and turn on the fluro over the stove. Lazlo complains in his haze, rolls over to block out the extra light. Slow going but I can read the text beneath.
They hasten to tell me that it is not a curse. When a man or, God bless, a woman, is Hollowed Out, the Black Tutor who lives inside the mask (who I can only imagine as a kind of tutelary daimon, if I recall my Socrates) attempts to merge with the wearer. They think that mask wants to create the exemplary hunter.
The tribe used to gather its warriors and hunt the Hollowed Out Man. They believed it was somehow luring men into walking with the Devil. Heh. Eventually they abandoned this practice because, for one, the Hollowed Out Man was immune to all weapons except those it had created or, though this less efficacious, handled itself. However the Hollowed Out Man was Nimrodian in his skills in battle. Getting close enough to wound is the rub.
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