by N. P. Martin
"What do you mean he mightn't be the same man?"
"I mean a hex is like a disease, and when you cut it out you sometimes have to cut out other parts too."
"Parts? What fucking parts? Are you bullshitting me, Creed?"
"No, I'm not fucking bullshitting you," I snapped. "Your cousin is riddled with dark magick. You didn't really think he was going to escape from it unscarred, did you?"
Big Joe sighed impatiently. "Fine, Creed. You just do what you have to do. I don't think Ace is going to make it through another day if you don't."
"Bring Ace to my Sanctum. I'll work on him there."
"Where's that?"
I smiled as I started the engine. "You said you were good at finding people, so find me." Hanging up the phone, I chucked it on the passenger seat and drove off.
3
Anarchy In The Usa
When I got back to the Sanctum, I found Blaez in the living room. The Garra Wolf was sitting on the wood floor staring at a single white feather that was on top of the red rug. Blaez's yellow eyes had a hint of sadness in them, I noticed. Frowning, I crouched down and picked up the feather. "So Barney has left us, huh, buddy?" I said staring at the feather. I had left one of the bedroom windows open upstairs just in case Barney the barn owl--Margot Celeste's familiar--wanted out for a flight. Going by the vibes I was getting off Blaez, and the conspicuous presence of the single white feather, I knew straight away that Barney had gone. Probably back to the woods where he had lived with Margot. A brownstone building in the middle of the city was no place for a barn owl.
I should have known the owl wouldn't be staying after getting back from the Underworld. Barney was undoubtedly more cut up about Margot's death than I was. They were soul mates, after all. I closed my eyes for a second as the memories of the Underworld flooded back into my mind: Baal and his unholy domain; Margot sacrificing herself to save us all; Leona and I almost dying when the world collapsed in on itself. I hadn't had a restful sleep since, plagued as my dreams were by nightmarish scenes that were always accompanied by crippling anxiety, ice cold fear, and unbearable guilt. Sometimes I thought it was a bad thing that magick prolonged the life of its practitioners. What scars would I have fifty years from now? A hundred years from now? What state would my mind be in? Would I eventually break under the strain of having to deal with too much pain and death and suffering?
I opened my eyes when I felt Blaez standing in front of me, his big head level with mine. Ruffling his fur with one hand, I put my head next to his and squeezed for a moment, then I smoothed my hand over his head. "Looks like it's just us again, buddy," I said.
Blaez made a noise in the back of his throat to signal his agreement.
Despite getting off to a shaky start, I had grown to like Barney. The only upside to his absence was the fact that the owl had left the feather behind, knowing I could use it to contact him whenever I needed to. I just had to use some magick on the feather, and I would get an instant psychic connection with Barney, kind of like a feathered phone. It was good to know Barney would miss us as well.
"You hungry, Blaez?" I asked him as I carefully placed the feather inside my trench coat. Something told me I would need to call upon Barney and his unique skills at some point in the future. "Let me get you some steak."
Blaez seemed to perk up at the mention of steak, and he followed behind me into the kitchen, practically gluing himself to my leg as I fetched the steak from the fridge and placed it on a plate for him. "Enjoy big fella," I said, ruffling the fur on his head quickly before heading back into the living room and through the secret door that led into the Room of Operations.
Once inside the Op Room, I sat down at the big rectangular table and opened up the MacBook, logging into the dark web via the Tor browser and typing in the address of the SciCane website which I had memorized at Division HQ earlier. There was a bottle of whiskey on the table as well, and I managed to locate a cleanish glass from under a stack of papers, which I then filled with the whiskey. After taking two large gulps of the stuff, I turned my full attention to the SciCane website.
There was nothing at all flashy about the site. In fact, it looked like a relic from the early nineties. Just a very basic forum format with an article base and a separate section entitled Freedom Files. I decided to click on the article base first, knowing I would find something there about the SciCane philosophy and their manifesto if they had one. And indeed, when I clicked on the link, a whole list of articles popped up on the screen, articles with titles such as the following:
The Sleeping Tiger Must Be Awakened
The People Demand Self-Autonomy
Anarchy In The USA
Magick Is For The Many, Not The Few
You Are Not Alone
The Universe Awaits You
Magick Is Science And Science Will Save You
The Blood Of The Privileged Will Paint The Streets Red
I stopped reading after that last title as I wondered who exactly the group classed as privileged. Were they referring to those in power--to those who governed society--or to those who had access to magick? Sorcerers such as myself? Clicking on the article link, I decided to find out as I read the opening paragraphs.
The Ruling Elite of this world can be broken down into two separate classes: The Non-Magickal Elite who control things publicly (politicians, corporations) and the Magickal Elite who control everything behind the scenes, ruling from the shadows (supernatural beings, magickal practitioners). Both classes are despicable in their puppeteering ways, controlling, using, and abusing the "Great Unwashed" as they see fit to suit their own nefarious ends. They hide knowledge and truths that rightfully belong to the common man, using it to store up power for themselves, all the while keeping the people below in forced ignorance, corrupting the minds of the people with unattainable desires and unceasing distraction, all to keep the truth from said people. And what is the truth? That there is more to the world than they know. That there is magick in the world and it is theirs--the peoples--by right. The universe is far greater and more breathtakingly magickal than people know. It is one of the prime directives of SciCane to open the eyes of the people and awaken them to their true nature, and to the true nature of the world. Once awakened, The Sleeping Tiger will be asleep no more, and the Ruling Elite will be so overwhelmed and so hopelessly outnumbered that they will have no choice but to stand down or have their rarified blood all over the new Streets of Freedom.
Puffing my cheeks out, I shook my head at what I just read. The online handle of the writer was Crowely666, and I shook my head at that as well. Either the writer was a deluded fanatic, or they were being ironic when they invoked the name of a man who had less to do with real magick and more to do with wanton decadence and the indulging of base desires, all the while reveling in the infamy the ignorant public created around him. Needless to say, I'm not a big Crowley fan. No self-respecting magickslinger is. Whether the writer was being ironic or not, it didn't matter. Neither case made the writer or SciCane any less dangerous.
Going through the other articles, I saw that most of them were written by Crowley666. Every article contained the same anarchist viewpoints, calling for full disclosure of information, and complete self-governance. In the forum section of the site, the call to revolution was espoused a lot by the site members, of which there appeared to be thousands. It was frightening how many members the site had. I had initially thought the group was a localized collective followed by a few dozen fanatics, but reading through the posts, it appeared SciCane had followers from all over the world. And every single follower shared the same philosophy as Crowely666, who I assumed was the leader of SciCane, or at the very least, one of the higher ups. I still had no idea of the group's structure or how they organized themselves. Was the group built on a standard hierarchal system? If so, that would go completely against everything the group seemed to stand for. If they really believed in self-governance, then no one would be in charge, and every member would have the sa
me equal status.
But I very much doubted that was the case. Perhaps on the surface, the people involved saw themselves as being equal. I had no doubt, however, that just a few at the top ran the whole thing, despite the political philosophy espoused on the website. Cults like SciCane (and I didn't doubt that it was just a cult after everything) always had a leader, no matter the philosophy of the cult itself. And if that was the case with SciCane, then didn't that alone prove the infallibility of the whole self-governance thing, when certain individuals still needed to be on top and in a position of power over others?
I shook my head and sat back in my seat as I drank more whiskey. These fucking cults were always rife with hypocrisy, and they almost always were an exercise in ego by whoever led them. Obviously, SciCane was no different. Crowely666, whoever they were, was clearly in charge of everything. If and when I ever met this person, I fully expected to meet a narcissistic megalomaniac who enjoyed using other people to get what they wanted. Though despite the rock star behavior, these people were always dangerous in their own way and had no problem asking their followers to do anything, however horrible or insane.
"Yep," I said to myself with a half smile. "This one's going to be fun alright."
Of course, I still needed to earn the good grace of Crowley666, and to do that I had to record some stupid video audition, something which caused me to shake my head again. I didn't like being put through hoops and made to feel like I was applying for some damn reality TV show with a ridiculously pompous name like The SciCane Protocol, or even worse, a sitcom with a name like Anarchists Next Door or some shit. On the other hand, I understood the need for secrecy and security. What SciCane was proposing--what they were doing--was probably the most dangerous thing any organization could do, which was to try and start a revolution and turn the people against their oppressors. The state, and its well-worn jack boots didn't much like those who did things like that. Which is why the state had their top people on it...or rather person. Me. A burnt out sorcerer with no love for either side, a man who killed his own father (in saving the world or not, I still did it). A man who cheated on the one person he loved more than any other, the person who willingly put up with his shit the most, the person who had now left him behind like unwanted garbage.
The whiskey glass was refilled as self-loathing and anger ate at my insides like a slow munching worm in my guts. A feeling I was becoming all too accustomed to these days. Fear And Self Loathing In Blackham City, starring August Creed. Come and see the show, why don't you? I hear it's a fucking blast.
A loud knock on the front door jarred me from my reverie. "Well," I said, putting my glass down on the table. "I wonder who that could be."
Of course, I knew full well who it was before I even opened the door.
Big Joe was standing there with whom I assumed was his cousin, who was looking a little worse for wear. Blood was streaming down his face actually as if his skull had just been split open. "Creed, you fucking son of a bitch," Big Joe said as he forced his way with his injured cousin into the Sanctum. "In the time it took us to find this fucking place, Ace here has had no less than three disasters befall him."
"Impressive," I said, thinking to myself that Ace fucked with the wrong witch. And you know me. I love a bit of witch.
"Fuck you," Ace spat at me, his words about as charming as he looked. He didn't seem like no womanizer to me. The dude looked like a fucking caveman, to be honest. He was all hair and sinew. What the hell did all these women see in the guy? I couldn't help but wonder to myself as I took in the long beard matted with blood and the thick dark hair stuck to his swarthy face with blood also. Perhaps it was just those werewolf pheromones. It was the only reasonable explanation. I mean, I'm no looker folks (well, just a bit), but this guy? He looked like he belonged in a cave in some forested mountain region somewhere as he survived on freshly killed deer and rabbits, mating with whatever wolf came his way, or any other female creature unfortunate enough to cross his path. "A fucking bowling ball just fell out of the sky and split my skull open."
"A bowling ball," I said, trying to sound like I cared, but probably still sounding as amused as I truly felt. "Looks like it was a strike then."
Ace growled and suddenly went for me like a rabid dog, his eyes now yellow, his fangs bared. But just as he did, Blaez came crashing down the hallway and got between us. Blaez's heckles were up, his massive teeth on display as he snarled at Ace. The werewolf stopped in shock as he stared at the Garra Wolf before him, then seemed to back off almost reverently as if Blaez was some highly thought of Wolf God.
"You have a Garra Wolf?" Big Joe said in amazement, his eyes filled with the same reverence as his cousin's.
"Yes," I said. "And he'll rip you two apart if I tell him too."
Ace raised his hands slowly in front of him. "I apologize," he said, not to me, but to Blaez.
In response, Blaez snapped his jaws at the werewolf. Safe to say, Blaez liked bullies about as much as I did, and given Blaez's upbringing under a sadistic slave trader, that was totally understandable. "Are you two mutts going to behave now?" I asked, weary of them already, and resenting them both for interrupting me while I was working on a case.
"Sure," Big Joe said, clearly disliking the fact that a Garra Wolf was defending me, a creature he would no doubt have seen as his own kind. "Let's just get this thing done so we can all pretend we never even knew each other."
"Big Joe, that's about the smartest thing you've ever said to me," I said. "Follow me."
4
Creed And The Big Bad Wolf
I took them both down to the basement because that's where most of my spell ingredients were kept. I still wasn't sure what it would take to reverse Ace's hex so I would rather have things at easy reach if I needed them. Blaez followed into the basement as he kept a wary eye on the two werewolves. At any sign of trouble, Blaez would attack without hesitation. I'm not saying Blaez would have found it easy to take down two werewolves at once, especially one Big Joe's size. No doubt the pack leader was an impressive sight when he fully shifted into his wolf form. But Blaez was also a fire elemental, which meant he could burn both werewolves to a crisp if he so desired. I hoped that didn't happen, however, because I didn't want the smell of charred werewolf permeating the Sanctum for God knows how long. Although to be honest, the smell would likely have been no worse than some the offensive odors that had been unleashed in the Sanctum over the years.
"This your little geek den, Creed?" Big Joe asked, thinking he was funny no doubt. "This where you make all your little potions and concoct your fancy spells?"
"Something like that," I said as I cleared the table in the center of the room, removing everything that was on it and placing it all on the floor. "Get up onto the table." I looked at Ace as I said it, noticing how unsure he seemed about the whole situation. He trusted me even less than Big Joe did, which was saying something. But there was no denying the hairy bastard was in a bind, and he, therefore, had no choice but to do as I said. He climbed onto the table and sat on the edge like a really big and really hairy kid about to see the school nurse. Or sorcerer in this case.
"What are you gonna do to me?" Ace asked.
"Really?" I said. "After everything that's happened to you since being hexed and you're worrying what I'm going to do to you." I chuckled and shook my head. "That's funny."
"Screw you," Ace said. "Just do what you have to do and get rid of this fucking curse so I can get back to my life.
"And what life is that?" I felt like saying. "Drinking and beating up women who couldn't bare to look at you once they realized the mistake they had made?" I said nothing, however, as I went to a shelf on the wall and plucked a small bottle of bright blue liquid from amongst a collection of others.
"What's that?" Big Joe asked as I held the bottle out for Ace to take.
"A precautionary measure, that's all," I explained. "A potion to repress his inner wolf. Things might get a little strained as I try to reverse the
hex. I don't want Ace here wolfing out and attacking me."
"Fuck that," Ace said dismissing the potion I held out. "I ain't drinking that shit."
I looked at Big Joe. "Can you please explain to your cousin that if he wants my help, then he's going to have to do as I say. Otherwise, just forget it."
Big Joe nodded and then looked at Ace. "Do as he says."
It was not a request, but a command and Ace knew it. Shaking his head, he held his hand out for the potion bottle. "This shit better be temporary."
"It is," I said. "You'll be free to shift in a few hours again."
Ace grabbed the potion from me, uncorked the bottle and quickly downed the blue liquid inside, grimacing at the acrid taste. He would have grimaced a lot more if I had told him exactly what was in the potion.
"Alright, Creed," Big Joe said after glancing at Blaez, who stood just behind the werewolf leader, his head low as if ready to pounce at any second. "Work whatever magick you're going to work so we can get the hell out of this rank-smelling geek den."
I shook my head at him. "If I knew you were coming I would have hung some Magic Trees." I turned away and went back to the shelf, trying to decide the best approach to reversing Ace's hex. Reversing a hex wasn't an exact science. Like everything supernatural related, there were too many variables to fully control an eventual outcome. The best you could do was keep trying things until something worked.
"How will I know if what you're going to do has worked or not?" Ace asked as if reading my thoughts.
"Nothing will fall on you when you step outside," I replied as I sorted through various jars and bottles.
"Funny," Ace growled.
I gave him a sarcastic smile as I came back to the table carrying four different glass bottles containing potions of various colors. "A hex is like a tumor," I said. "Once I get a look inside you, I should be able to find where it is. That's also how I'll know if its gone or not after we've finished."