by S E Brower
Facing him once more, “After you left the Library, I wondered, and returned to look at Faith’s book to search for a daughter. When I did not find one, I knew she must be a Rogue Soul.” His expression turned to curiosity, just as hers changed to fear.
“You were right, Jessica’s life is in danger. The Author will have her soul,” she said, filled with sadness.
“How do you know it is The Author who wants her eliminated? Of this, I never spoke,” his voice louder than he intended, wondering if he misplaced his trust in her.
Aalonray would not let him intimidate her. “The Author wants all the Rogues eradicated, of this much I am certain.”
“I am the one commissioned for her demise. Information you did not know, I am sure,” stepping back, he hung his head, as Aalonray let out a gasp.
“I’m so sorry, I am to blame,” she looked away from him.
“How are you to blame? It was The Author who set the order.”
“It is a long story. I will try to explain. It is complicated.”
“I am listening,” he stood surveying the Relic Room’s interior, scanning for a possible exit. If he had any hope of saving Jessie, he could not be caught here.
She understood his concern. “No harm will come to you Drummondax, inside this room. Let me start from the beginning, you shall have your answers.”
“I only wish to protect Jessica. Please, continue,” he bowed.
“Thank you,” she cleared her throat, and told her story. “The Guardian Library dwells in a space between Heaven and Earth. The Father cast Lucifer out of Heaven yet leaving him access to the Guardian Library. Human souls are what he desires, and continually searches for the ones wayward and lost.
The Father granted mankind, free will. Lucifer must convince humans to turn their backs on our Father of their own accord. While Lucifer has always made appearances in the Library, the frequency increased with many audiences taken with The Author. I made it my business to discover the nature of those visits.
Always careful to stay hidden, I watched and listened. I overheard Lucifer bragging to The Author about intercepting prayer. While this alone is monstrous, The Author, suggested a scheme to eliminate the ‘Son’ from the minds of mankind. Combined with the interception of prayer, in this way, it would be ever so much easier to turn the masses against our Father.”
Drummondax could not believe what he heard. He knew The Author did things seemingly unorthodox, but never once, did he think The Author had joined forces with Lucifer.
“Why would The Author turn away from our Father?”
“There are many reasons I suppose,” she told him, “but there are two I believe lie at its genesis. The Author is an Ancient progressed, from where, I am uncertain. But in doing so, he asked The Father for a standing of prominence, and was granted Authorship of The Guardian Library. A position The Author holds with disdain, feeling it is beneath him. That is reason number one.”
“And reason number two?”
“You are reason two.”
“Me?” he shook his head in surprise, “I do not understand.”
“When The Author discovered your disobedience, he punished you severely.” Drummondax stood silently waiting for her to explain. “Our Father punished The Author severely, for his actions against you.” Drummondax was shocked!
“Punished him, how?” he asked, in a panic.
“That is unimportant. It is all you need know.”
“This explains much of his perceived hatred towards me.”
Aalonray nodded her agreement, “So, it would seem.”
“It also explains why he would have me commit this heinous act, and then?”
“When I realized what they were plotting, I knew I must get a message to The Father without it being intercepted.”
“Did you?”
“As of this moment, I have not.” Drummondax let out a disappointed sigh. Aalonray continued, “I tried to slow their advancement by gaining their trust. I convinced them to erase mankind’s memories in small increments, as a test. By working backwards through time, beginning with present day, it would eradicate all memory of the ‘Son’. It worked, too well, I’m afraid.”
Drummondax could not believe what she said, “What have you done?” he shouted at her.
“I know, I know. It sounds awful, but it slowed them down. You must understand, I had no choice. They needed halting, I had to do something. It was the only thing I could think of, until I could activate the Rogue Souls, and Prophets to assist me.”
“Activate?”
“Since the time of the Dragon Wars, when Lucifer rose to take the throne from our Father, I have been charged with activation of the Rogue Souls and Prophets. Only when required, I activate them into service. I am entrusted with a way to contact them when their special talents facilitate protecting the realm. Until that time, I do not know them.”
“You mentioned Dragon Wars,” he was unfamiliar with the term.
“The Dragon Wars took place long ago,” she told him, “I know you were not a human progressed, and have always been an Angel, but if a warrior you were not, you would know nothing of such things.” Turning her back to him as she spoke, he realized the memories of the Dragon Wars must remain painful for her, still.
“I was never a warrior,” he told her.
“Once there was a fierce army of Angels,” she continued, “we knew them as the Dragon Warriors. They had cunning, were powerful, and would fight for our Father with their dying breath. Paired with Rogue Souls for their special abilities, together they fought against Lucifer. A great battle ensued, in which Lucifer and two of his closest henchmen lost something of great importance.”
“What did they lose?”
“All you need know, is the Dragon Warriors were victorious in vanquishing him, and his dragons, back to the depths of Hell. To this day, I imagine Lucifer would experience fear in the company of a Dragon Warrior, because of it. That was many a millennium ago. There have been no dragons since that time.”
“What became of the Dragon Warriors?”
She turned to face him once more, “They progressed, as we all must.” Trying hard to comprehend it all, things began to make sense. He looked hard into her eyes.
“You are a Rogue Soul, or you were once.”
“Yes,” she answered, “I progressed during the Dragon Wars.”
“You were Jordondey’s pairing, were you not?”
She nodded, “I was,” it surprised her he had picked up on this, “you are perceptive. How did you know?”
“When I met Jordondey, he seemed unlike other Guardians. Everything about him was,” he paused, searching for the right word, “unfamiliar. When I mentioned your name, it seemed he knew of you. There was a history between you, of that much I was certain… also he had on his forearm, the mark of a Dragon.”
“Ah, you are a most observant Guardian,” impressed, she smiled.
“I have learned much from you, yet this does not explain why The Author would want to eliminate Jessica,” he told her, as Aalonray’s expression turned to sadness.
“My mistake was convincing them to only change small things. I knew the Rogue Souls would remember past histories in their original form, and I had counted on them to recover those histories when we once again defeated Lucifer. What I had not counted on, was Lucifer’s demons,” she said the word with distaste.
“One of Lucifer’s bothersome pets happened upon a Rogue Soul and discovered their special ability. He reported it to Lucifer. Not knowing if every Rogue Soul possessed the same powers, they made the decision to eliminate them all, to protect their plans. They excluded me from this decision, I only learned of it after the fact.
However, if not for my untoward earlier suggestion, the Rogues would live still. The first two casualties were a set of twins from Wales. The Driscoll brothers, Evan and Garret. It was Garret, who was the Rogue Soul. Lucifer took Evan, out of spite. He knows The Father does not allow him to take a soul by force, only by f
ree will. The Father must be extremely angry with him.”
“Obviously, the Rogues did not progress when they died. Where were they taken?” Drummondax demanded.
She turned away from him again. “I do not know. I have searched the Library over. They are here. They must be, and yet I have found them not. The Author had me place Garret’s spirit in a carrying crystal for safe keeping. He must have thought better of allowing others to hide the Rogues and took on the task himself. In any case, I never saw another, since Garret.”
“I will do everything within my power to help you find them,” he told her, as he worried Jessie would meet the same fate. Filled with misgivings, Drummondax asked the question, to which he already knew the answer.
“Each time there is ‘a stir’ in the realm, Jessica feels it. It means they have eliminated another Rogue Soul, does it not?”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “It does,” she nodded, a silent tear ran down her cheek. To comfort her, he laid his hand upon her shoulder. With a soft voice, she thanked him for his allegiance, which made what she was about to say much more difficult. Her beautiful, shimmering wings slumped to the floor.
“Perhaps we can assist one another Drummondax, but if they discover your presence here, I will deny you. I must not give away my true intentions, if I have hopes of stopping them. You understand?”
He blinked his unspoken acceptance. His priority was to protect Jessica. He would return and tell her what he discovered. In the meantime, he remembered how she laughed when he mentioned she had no Guardian. She said, she had him. He was her Guardian. It wasn’t until that moment, he understood why he felt ‘the stir’ the same as she.
The night her mother died, Faith asked him to bless her daughter. Without thinking, he hadn’t only blessed her, he gave Jessica the Guardian Blessing. In doing so, he not only violated protocol, but inextricably tied himself to her, for as long as she would live. He was in fact, her Guardian.
Chapter 13
Wine & Spirits
Jessie and Travis soon stood at the bottom of the steps leading to 213 Church Street. Jessie found the address curious.
They were at the right place, Psychic Medium & Clairvoyant Celeste, as the sign out front attested. It was part of a row of old town homes. Colonial bricks clad Celeste’s psychic parlor set off by a beautiful painted black door, complete with brass door knocker, very high end. Her hours, posted on a placard to the side of the door, prompted Travis to glance at his watch.
“She’s not open, now.” Jessie, undeterred, ascended the four steps leading to the door. Lifting the brass handle, she gave it a solid tap, tap before Travis could object. “What are you doing?” She turned to look down at him still standing on the sidewalk.
“What does it look like I’m doing? We came here to get answers.” He stood inspecting the pavement, shaking his head. She motioned to him, “So, let’s get answers, get up here.”
Impatient, she turned back towards the door intending to knock again, when the door opened suddenly, startling her. A very attractive young woman stood in the doorway. Jessie wasn’t sure what to expect, but if this was Celeste, the person in front of her didn’t remotely resemble her idea of how a psychic should look.
Close in age to the siblings, she was well appointed. She wore jewelry and a designer print sundress with a purple sweater showing off her beautiful figure. Manicured nails of glistening blood red graced her fingertips. Her skin was caramel colored, her cheek-bones high, framed with dark eyes, make-up perfectly applied, just like the matching blood red lipstick on her lovely lips. She tied a print silk scarf, the kind you find in expensive boutiques around her hair like a headband.
“May I help you?” her voice low, as she looked at them with only slightly veiled annoyance.
“Yes,” Jessie jumped right in, “we really need a medium. There are questions about the spiritual world we need to have answered.” The woman in the doorway looked them both up and down.
“I see, do you have an appointment?” Jessie looked at her brother, who shrugged his shoulders.
“No, we don’t,” Jessie bit her lip, hoping it wouldn’t matter.
“I am closed now. Here is my card,” which she seemed to produce out of thin air. She handed it to Jessie, “Make an appointment, return then.”
“But you don’t understand,” Jessie protested, “we need answers today, right now. Please?”
“I am closed, now,” she repeated, as the door swung shut. But Travis called her name.
“Celeste,” it caused her to pause long enough to hear him out, “I don’t know if you remember me. My name is Travis Barrett. I’m a producer at the TV Station on Wynnefield,” he showed his I.D. Badge, “we shot a segment on Mediums a while back. You were our feature, although it hasn’t run yet.” She hesitated, then nodded her recollection.
“Yes, I remember Mr. Barrett. What can I do for you?”
“Like she said,” gesturing towards Jessie, “we need spiritual answers.”
“It’s important,” Jessie added, “and we’re in a hurry.” Celeste let out a long breath in resignation.
“Yes, all right. Please, come in,” she motioned for them to follow.
If Celeste herself did not fit Jessie’s idea of how a psychic should look, her parlor was the epitome of cliché. Inside the smell of incense permeated the air. Beautiful Victorian style wallpaper covered the walls in a damask pattern of red, and gold. An antique clock hung resolute in the long expanse of the hall, loudly ticking away the seconds.
There were no pictures or knick-knacks, save one lonely framed certificate of a master’s degree in Astrophysics, bearing the name, Kendal Williams. Travis thought it odd, as he followed along behind Jessie.
A beautiful wooden staircase graced the foyer, leading to the second floor and the living quarters, Jessie assumed. Other than that, it was austere and creepy to be sure.
“This way,” Celeste said, as they followed her silently towards a room in the back of the house.
Turning the crystal doorknob of a heavy old oak door, Celeste entered the darkened room, the siblings trailing in behind her. Victorian tapestries were draped across the four tall windows along the back wall. Even though it was the middle of the day, it took a while for their eyes to adjust.
Jessie looked all around admiring the architecture, thinking how much her mom would love seeing an old house like this one. The walls were wood paneled like that of a library or judge’s chambers. There were no adornments on these walls either, just a shelf housing a wooden box, an unlit oil lamp, and a white feather by its side.
The floors were also wood, polished to a soft glow. A circular Victorian carpet lay in the center of the room with a round wooden pedestal table, covered with a dark red tablecloth, the edge fringed in gold. Atop the table was placed the cliché, obligatory crystal ball, three candles surrounding it. Travis noticed there was also one wine glass filled with red wine, accompanied by a plate of fruit. He thought it strange, making a face. Apparently, Jessie did too, as she gave her brother a questioning sideways glance. Travis shrugged his shoulders in answer.
A deck of tarot cards splayed as if they had just been read, covered the place in front of the chair nearest the door. A tiny compass pocket-watch and several pieces of quartz lie randomly to the side.
Upholstered seats with intricately carved high wooden backs surrounded the table, with three additional chairs placed against the paneled walls. The only light in the room was coming from the candles.
“Please,” Celeste motioned them to the table, “sit.” The siblings complied. “Have either of you been to a psychic before?” Jessie shook her head no.
“You’re the only psychic I know,” Travis added, “and that was only an interview.”
“I thought as much,” her face expressionless. “Before we begin, I will accept cash or credit cards. No checks.”
“I got it,” Jessie dug through her purse. They waited for her credit card to finish processing. Jessie coughed
slightly upon seeing the bill and signed her name on the receipt. With payment complete, Celeste re-directed her attention back to the matter at hand.
She stood up, walked over to the shelf, lifting the lid of the wooden box. It was metal lined inside. Reaching in, she pulled out a tied bunch of sage, and a cigarette lighter. Picking up the feather, she lit the already burnt end of the sage. Pursing her red lips, blowing lightly until it smoked. Walking around the room, she fanned the smoking sage with the feather. Her guests exchanged puzzled looks, when Celeste said, “To clear any negative energy.”
“Hmm,” Jessie murmured under her breath, one eyebrow raised, her heel bouncing involuntarily watching Celeste return the sage to its wooden coffin. The room smoked, and paid for, Celeste returned to her seat. Her demeanor changed, as she lowered her chin, looking at them through the tops of her lovely lashes.
“Now,” she paused dramatically, “what is it, you wish to know?”
Jessie gulped looking at her brother, thinking, “Maybe Drummondax was right. Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea.” Travis knew she was chickening out, so he spoke up.
“We came to find out about Rogue Souls.”
The request surprised Celeste, “I must tell you, I am unfamiliar with Rogue Souls.” Upon hearing this, Jessie worried the psychic would not be able to help them. “If I might ask,” Celeste continued, “how did you come by the term Rogue Soul? What do you know of them?”
Jessie answered, but paused measuring her words, not wanting to divulge too much, “I am certain they exist, they are without a Guardian to protect them, and may harbor special powers or abilities.”
“And, you have this information how?”
“The how, doesn’t matter,” Jessie told her, “let’s just say we have it on good authority.”
“Interesting,” Celeste whispered. She looked up addressing them both directly, “before we begin, do either of you have questions?” Jessie shook her head no, but Travis did.