‘It’s all right,’ Phillip addressed her. ‘Believe me, I know how you are feeling, and you can cope with this. There’s no way you would be witness to it if you couldn’t.’ He stood up and moved over to his bedside table. In the harsh lamplight by the side of the bed his face looked hawklike. For a moment, Theresa thought she recognised him from other lifetimes, that beneath the mask he was now wearing was a soul whom she had known and loved before. Then he came over to them with a large black journal in his hands.
‘This was Johanna’s,’ he said. ‘She was a creative person and loved to record her thoughts and dreams in journals as well as her art. I need you to read it tonight.’
Theresa looked around her to see if he was joking, but the witches’ faces were serious.
‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Why do we have to read it?’
‘Because we need your help now,’ Leonora said. Her eyes were blazing with light and an energy seemed to flash around her body. Theresa found herself shrinking back onto the bed in fear. ‘For a short time, you will be one of us. Part of our Circle of Nine. We need you to help us fight her. She’s grown too strong. You are going to help us close the portal.’
There was silence, and then Lazariel threw back his head and began to laugh.
Faline led Theresa and Lazariel down the carpeted hallway to her and Lucius’s double room. Inside the green and pink room were intimate traces of the couple: a pair of long black boots crumpled on the floor, a book on archaeology balancing on the sofa, nightwear creased and crumpled on the bed; the scent of Faline’s perfume in the air, flashes of the expensive French toiletries they used in the bathroom, a crumpled chocolate wrapper left on the desk. Ironic nudges of normality, in a world no longer normal.
‘Make yourselves comfortable,’ Faline said, scooping up the nightwear from the bed and shoving them under the pillows. ‘Sit on the bed or at the desk, wherever you feel most relaxed.’ She paused. ‘Not too relaxed though, we don’t want you going to sleep. Lucius and I will be right next door in Agatha and Odolf’s room.’ She indicated a connecting door. ‘I’ll arrange with room service to have a jug of coffee sent up.’
Theresa sat down on the small sofa and glanced again at the book Faline carried. She felt a sense of revulsion about touching the journal, let alone reading it.
‘You must,’ Faline said, reading her mind. ‘It’s imperative you know what you’re up against. She’s grown incredibly powerful and will do anything to prevent us closing the portal. She will try to attack the weaker members of the group first, which I am afraid means you. Ignorance is no defence against her. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has already tried.’
A disturbing recollection shifted inside Theresa. She attempted to bring it to her conscious mind, but it disintegrated the more she tried to focus on it. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘I’m sure I would remember something like that!’
‘Don’t be too sure,’ Faline said. ‘She can take many forms.’
The memory of the overweight black cat padding its way on soft velvet feet though a silent, sleeping town came to Theresa and she shivered. Faline noticed immediately. ‘Do you need a jumper?’ she asked. ‘It’s so bloody cold up here.’
Theresa shook her head. Faline carefully placed the book on the table in the room, looking at it as if unwilling to let it go. ‘The coffee will arrive soon,’ she promised. ‘We’ll come for you when you’ve finished.’
Lazariel crossed to the windows and drew back the heavy green curtains to look out at the night. His wings were flattened at his back, making him look like a normal man. ‘If your friend is so powerful, what’s to stop her materialising in the room while we’re sitting here reading her book?’ he asked. ‘Why can’t she shapeshift into the room attendant and bring us a jug of poisoned coffee? Or a venomous snake and strike us while we read?’
Theresa who had been trying not to think of these thoughts, shot a worried look at Faline.
‘We won’t be sleeping,’ Faline said. ‘We are all going to be next door combining our energies to place a barrier of protection around you both. Yes, she is powerful, but with the fusion of our individual abilities we should be able to hold her at bay.’ Faline left the room, after making a protective circle around the circumference of it.
Resistance to reading the journal came over Theresa. She no longer knew if she liked or trusted these people. Leonora altering her body had been strange enough, but Faline was irritating her with her dark soulful beauty, and Phillip just seemed to take it for granted they were going to swallow every word of his outlandish story and put their lives on hold to participate in God knows what. Then a memory came to her, the thud of bodies entering through the walls of the Light Vision house. Blood covering the clothes, faces and hands of her housemates. Alan and Daniel wearing antlers, drenched with blood. And the thing, the stinking black thing with the huge bright red tongue and penis that had climbed on top of her that night.
She sat down next to Lazariel on the sofa. He had already picked up the book and was studying it. More resistance to learning what was inside it came over her. The rain was now pelting down outside. She wanted to lie in the comfortable bed with Lazariel and make love, then drift off to sleep. She wanted to be sitting in front of Emily Robson’s heater in The Silver Hen, listening to her calming voice, watching her kind, wise eyes. Most of all, she wanted to be away from the mountains which suddenly seemed enclosed, claustrophobic. She wanted to be on the night train with Lazariel, making their way to the safety of somewhere else altogether.
Lazariel opened the book to find myriad doodles and sketches intermingled with rounded writing. Faces of demons and angels, plants and flowers of a kind they had never seen before. Despite the spontaneity of the drawings, it was obvious this was an artist with technical skills and talent. Sitting together, their legs touching, they began to read.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I have offended God and mankind because my work did not reach the quality it should have.
— LEONARDO DA VINCI, DIED 1519
Extracts from Johanna Develle’s journal
They visited me again last night. Extraordinary, really. Phillip is working day and night on the summoning invocations and yet they are already manifest and seeking me out. I’ve never seen them, or heard their voices, but I feel them. They stand in my studio and watch me working. I can draw them. It feels as if there are a few of them. When I feel their presence they work through me, and I capture their appearance. Demonic faces, earthbound by the look of them. Low or limited intelligence, but they could be trained. Yes, I am convinced they could be trained.
Flat out for the art show at Mosman. I only have to submit two pieces but they fail to interest me. Landscapes again. It’s bread and butter money. I can’t afford to live off the book illustration money. What I really want to do is capture these beings in oils.
Phillip is obsessed with learning to control and summon the lower ones he has managed to contact in his trances. It would make me laugh if it wasn’t so serious. He proposes to use the coven of misfits he has assembled around him. They’re not up to the task of course, especially with the knowledge level of the spirits that they would be dealing with. A bunch of street children, prostitutes and drug addicts! For now, I’ll go along with him. I keep reminding myself, I must not underestimate them!
Jade has just been to visit, disturbing the peace of a Sunday afternoon, dragging her brat child with her. She was trying to cadge an invitation to the Mosman show off me, desperate to find herself in the weekend society papers. I had more than enough of being compared unfairly to Jade when we were growing up, and I won’t have her hogging the limelight at my own art exhibition! She wants my life, damn her. Not content with ruining my childhood, she is still trying to live through me. It’s never failed to sadden me how the most vacuous, insignificant, superficial people like my beloved sister Jade can find everything so smooth and easy in their life. Beautiful people never have to struggle. Jobs flow to them, invitations arr
ive, lovers queue for their favours. I suffered a million injustices when we were growing up. I’ll never forget my charmless mother introducing me to her friends: ‘This is Johanna. She’s not as pretty as Jade, but just as well. If no man wants her she can look after me and Micheal when we get old!’ They all laughed, leaving me feel totally crushed. Hopefully they are rotting in their retirement in England. One endless put-down after another. One criticism after another. Like birds picking me slowly to pieces.
But I digress. Today I realised two things that should have been obvious long ago. Jade is afraid of me — she is a lot more sensitive than I ever realised. She knows something. The other is this: Emma, her brat, has the gift! Her eyes are clear. I saw them today. One of the cosmic giggles of life that it should be passed down to Jade’s child. She already has far more natural ability than any of Phillip’s sad little cast of characters. Men always make rotten spiritual leaders. Is it because of their swollen dicks? Thankfully I no longer have to rely on finding a man to satisfy my sexual needs and desires. The angoli Charmonzhla way be small, but is incredibly skilled with his hands and tongue.
Two of the paintings sold at Mosman and I’ve received a commission for a children’s book about a koala and a fairy in the bush. Loathe doing that stuff, who the hell do they think I am? Pixie O’Harris? But I need the money. Phillip won’t let me stay here forever, He’s been away overseas in the south of France buying more property, which has given me plenty of time to snoop through his books and collect information. I’ve been having some very bad nightmares about a house in the bush. Difficult to recall details, but I remember a sink filled with hair and blood and something about a painting coming to life.
I had Damian and Antoinette over for dinner last night. They’re only in Australia for a short time. They’ve been studying under Gerald Gardner, but they broke away from him to form their own coven. I sat smiling to myself listening to them bitch about all the squabbles in the Pagan movement. All that hierarchical rubbish is no better than the Catholic Church. Posturing around in their robes, waving their athames, reciting useless chants. Antoinette knew something, I could tell. She was studying me pretty closely over dinner and they made their excuses to get away early. I’ll have to be more careful, look for a protective spell to place around me so psychics can’t tap into what I’m doing. Stop underestimating everyone around me! Arrogance breeds complacency. Really melancholy tonight. I’ve been trying so hard, attempting to make the crossing over to Eronth. I’ve followed Charmonzhla’s instructions to the letter: the diet, the fasting, the amulets, the invocations but nothing’s happening. He says my own fear of crossing (my fear of death) is blocking me. Phillip’s due back soon and I feel I haven’t accomplished anything. Fucking an angoli doesn’t count.
Well, Phillip’s returned and spent only a brief time here before he charged up to the Blue Mountains with his latest lay conquest, little luscious Patricia, oh sorry, Faline now. Her initiation was enough to make me sick. Phillip and Luscius acting like panting dogs! Why can’t they see that Barbie doll has no true power? At least when they’re concentrating on bedding shit-for-brains Dea and brunette Barbie they forget about me. They’ve gone to look at a house for sale, one he feels would be perfect for the coven to move to. It’s meant to have an interesting history. Damn Phillip. He hardly even bothered acknowledging me when he got here. He only had eyes for Faline. Before her it was Dea. The prick has no idea of what I’m up to under his nose. I was freaked when he said he had dinner with Antoinette and Damian in London, afraid they may have shared their impressions of me when they met. If so, he hasn’t said anything. Probably thinks I’m still in love with him after we did it. How could a man compete with an angoli?
Had a brief thing with Cael. It was wild. Totally spontaneous and violent. Right in the paint studio among my half-finished canvases. We ended up with bright yellow paint on our backs and bums. Now we’re reeking of turps. I feel really deeply satisfied today, even more so than when I’m with Charmonzhla. Just hope he doesn’t start hanging around here now — Cael, that is.
I’m blocked. This is like hell. I can’t paint, draw. Nothing.
Had a strange experience yesterday. I was sitting in the back garden avoiding opening the door to Cael and Dea Dreamer. The sight of the two of them in love makes me puke. An owl came flying over the hedge and landed right near me. Except it wasn’t an owl. It was a messenger. I knew this because of its eyes, it had human eyes. Bright, bright green. It looked at me and then flew off. Something is going to happen soon, I can feel it.
I’m still blocked, trying not to panic. It all seems too hard, too meaningless. All I can think about is crossing over to Eronth. I just have to conquer my fear of death. I’ve astral travelled so many times in my life you think I would be unconcerned about the physical body, but the genetic imprinting of death is stronger than any of us realise. Had a fight with Jade. I won’t be seeing her any more. Her constant demands for money, her resentment of my life, her continual bitching have brought me to this point. Even for the sake of Emma I will not see Jade again. I want no reminders of my old life before I cross over to Eronth. There may come a time when the brat will come in handy for me, but despite her strong gifts, she’s too young, too underdeveloped for me to work with her.
Haven’t written for a long time and things have changed dramatically with my life. I’ve moved out of Sydney and into the house in the Blue Mountains. Phillip is letting me stay here rent free as long as I fix it up a bit. It was an old dump when I first came here. Nests of rats inside the house, mould over the walls. I painted the exterior pink and then painted the whole interior after cleaning it all out. In the bathroom I painted a frieze in imitation of the one at Pompeii that I like so much. Under Charmonzhla’s instructions, I hung mirrors throughout the house and then I created the mural. Well, half of the mural. Phillip and his coven came up and did their little ritual for the doorway between worlds. I was shocked when I saw them again. A distinct change has taken place in them all since they began working with the entities Phillip contacted. Even Dea Dreamer was glowing. Lucius and Faline have started sleeping together. I could see that coming. She would be the only one dumb enough to put up with his moods. Agatha and Odolf were much more focused and self-aware, not engaged in the ceaseless bickering that normally takes up all their time. Leonora, Cael and Dea seemed to have something going between the three of them, but even Leonora looked different, younger, more radiant. Phillip was so beautiful I thought my heart was going to break all over again. I still don’t agree with the dabbling that they are doing with the lower entities, but I have to admit the results are impressive. I caught Phillip looking at me with a frown in his eyes a few times. I have to tread carefully. The ritual itself went well, although Phillip wasn’t aware of that. As far as he’s concerned it was a failure.
That was when it began, after the mural was in place. All my previous attempts to enter Eronth had been unsuccessful. It was only through the art, through the painting and the creativity that I could enter that magical place. There are no words to describe the fantastical beauty of Eronth, I can only hope to capture a smidgen of it in my artworks. The weird thing is, it seems so familiar, as if it’s a land I’ve always known. I’m no longer blocked. I’m painting day and night, trying to capture everything that I’m seeing. I’ve never been so happy.
The owl has returned.
I can’t sleep. Too afraid. The thing has returned. I can feel it pacing outside, eager to get in. Can sense its breath, its jaws. When I shut my eyes, I receive such horrific images that I fear my mind is going to crack. I can’t look in a mirror without seeing them standing behind me. I can no longer walk into the village because I’m too open. I see far too much for my nervous system to cope with. Thought patterns everywhere. I have begun to realise on a very deep level how much power we all have. Yes, even drones like Wendy in the art shop in Katoomba, the sneaky sneak! Our minds create the most incredible things constantly and I’m being forced to witness ev
erything. Everything! I was hoping Khartyn would be able to help me with this, but she’s no longer as friendly as she once was. She is warning me I’m crossing too much, but I’m not certain if she’s just using that as an excuse because she is beginning to see through me. I’m unsure of how much perception the drone has. Despite her magical abilities, in some ways she remains very ignorant. Charmonzhla did put Glamour over me, but perhaps it is weakening. I know I have started to suffer from persistent headaches and my urine is changing colour.
Cael visited today, but I hid in the house and refused to let him in. He mustn’t come near me. The shock would probably kill him. I’ve aged so much. Can no longer bear to look into any of the mirrors. I’ve covered them all. There’s been a lot of activity through the mural. I hear things coming through at different times and there is sometimes mud and a rank smell in the lounge room. Did two paintings this week. Working exceptionally fast. One is called The Ancestor, A Self-Portrait and is based on the owl I keep seeing. The other work is called Khartyn and Rosedark — the circle is broken. I don’t think I will be returning to Eronth.
Have lost a week. I had a dream last night where Phillip and the coven were living in the South of France. I keep fearing Cael will come back, I can feel his concern for me. It may not be safe for him here, even from myself. I lost a week. I have no idea what happened. All I remember is hearing the sounds of a hunting horn in the night and I fell as if I was running through the bush in search of food. Bent over, naked, running with a pack of hounds. Then a blank week. I feel as if I am losing my mind. I have lost an entire week.
Wendy from The Silver Hen has been trying to hang around me, poking her nose in where she’s not wanted. She stands outside the house, while I hide inside. Curiosity killed the cat. There are nights I sit alone in the house and I can taste feathers in my mouth. Yesterday, or the day before, I was in the garden and a desire for worms came over me. I began digging them up frantically, eating them covered in dirt. Now I have started to hunger for small mice and wondering how best I can catch them. I no longer have much hope I am going to make it through this. The night is so strong, the night is overwhelming. I am no longer safe, even from the wind.
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