Fall of the Nephilim: A Blackmoore Prequel (The Nephilim Books Book 2)

by Marcus James

  He agreed, though he kept telling her that he wished that she would just tell him right then and there over the phone, but in the end he gave up once he realized that Kathryn would not sway.

  “Trust me, it’s just too much to talk about on the phone,” she had repeated over and over again, trying to get him to give up asking.

  He finally acquiesced after a few minutes and agreed to come over at bar close. That would give them plenty of time to do what they needed to.

  The sun was finally beginning to set, and the crows would soon be making their way to their nighttime perches. Kathryn’s eyes went over the incantation from the book until it was committed to memory, and made her way outside in the back and the fiery orange of the setting sun blazed like an inferno on the plants, and the air was finally beginning to temper.

  Kathryn stood on the cool grass barefoot in her usual tight black dress, the cage at her side, and focused on clearing her thoughts; focusing only on her breath and her witchcraft. Connecting with the tingling heat and the way it moved up her body, riding the highways of her nervous system.

  She knelt down on the lawn, keeping her eyes closed and spreading her fingers out, moving them through the green blades. She felt the life within the earth-the energy-the vital force of the goddess pulsating in every speck of dirt and pebble, it flowed through the insects within the soil and through the root of every plant and tree.

  “Queen of Witches, Queen of night, I call to me a sacrifice. Wings as pitch and eyes that see, bring it to me.” Kathryn chanted.

  That power moved out of her, through the earth and wind, taking it to the ether. It was always like that first deep breath of contentment. As if she could suddenly lift off the very ground that held her.

  Kathryn opened her eyes, and waited. Focusing on the sounds around her, the sounds of laughter at the hotel pool, the various birds in the trees, and the distant noise of Sunset filled the twilight world.

  It only took a moment or two before one large black crow landed on the grass before her. It stared at her without hesitation, and did nothing as she carefully reached for the old cage and moved it in front of the bird.

  Kathryn slowly opened the cage and began to whistle slowly as instructed, and the crow’s head tilted to the side, as birds so often do, and began to alternate between walking and hopping towards the cage.

  The Corvus looked at her once more, giving a caw before hoping into the cage, allowing Kathryn to shut the door behind it.

  Kathryn got back to her feet and held the crow up to her face. It was abnormally calm, but even still, she decided that it was best to throw a shawl over the cage to keep the bird docile while held captive inside.

  Magdalene was standing at the bar in black leggings and stiletto ankle boots, with a black midriff tee hanging off of both shoulders, exposing her honey skin, and pouring herself a glass of pinot that they had picked up at the market along with the milk, honey, and roses.

  “Want a glass?”

  Kathryn sat the cage down on the table and nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Are we sure about this? I mean, no turning back once we do this.”

  Kathryn thought again about everything she had seen, everything that had happened since her arrival, and the looming thought that Angelina was in grave danger and nodded.

  “We have no choice.”

  “This is just some dark magic. I mean really heavy stuff. What if something goes wrong?”

  Kathryn shrugged, hoping to convey to Magdalene that her concerns, though not falling on deaf ears, were not going to be addressed either.

  “Alright,” Magdalene said with a sigh. “We smoke the pot as soon as we are done creating the circles, but we don’t drink the absinthe. We don’t want to leave our bodies, we just want to be able to see through the veil and into the nether realm, and then we call Her forth.

  “Only three questions may be asked, so we have to make them count.” Kathryn got up from the chair and walked down the hall towards her room, emerging moments later with a giant black shawl that she draped over the cage.

  “Great...” Kathryn sat back down in the dining chair and began to rap her nails on the table while she sipped her wine. The silence lasted between them for a long time-a good five minutes-before Magdalene, uncomfortable and uneasy with their plan, decided to break the somber air.

  “Hey,” she had been leaning against the bar, shoulders at ease, staring into space, but now she was standing straight; eyes wide. “Let’s get out of here. We’ve got some time to kill, let’s head down to the hotel bar and have some drinks-maybe find some cute guys to buy us said drinks?”

  Magdalene felt terrible for Kathryn. She had come here to try to restart her life, away from South Hill and her heartache, and instead she became the target of these nightmare creatures and she had no idea why.

  Her friend was now missing, the friend they had left at the party, and she still had yet to drop the news of Sheffield’s return. She knew she needed to. It wasn’t fair, and the pain was always there; a shadow over Kathryn’s face.

  Magdalene knew that Kathryn may already be wrestling with the idea that she could be destroyed by these demons, that her life could be snuffed out before she really had a chance to live.

  She couldn’t tell Kathryn about Sheffield now, not when they needed to be centered and focused on what they had to do, but after, when the summoning was over and it was all said and done, perhaps once they got back to the Marmont or come next light-when there was a moment without task-that’s when she would tell her about the return of Sheffield Burges and offer to call him and invite him to come to Los Angeles.

  This would give Kathryn hope, it would make her happy, but it would also make her unable to stay focused on anything else.

  Yes, tell her after we’ve finished tonight. Once we’ve learned whatever it is we have to learn, and she can have the foresight to decide if Sheffield should come or if it would be safer for him to stay in Bellingham, far away from all of this death.

  “Sound’s good to me!” Kathryn responded with a smirk.

  Both women laughed as they grabbed their purses and walked out of the bungalow-Kathryn having slipped on her heels after she had come back in from the patio-lighting a cigarette and locking the door behind them.

  “I wasn’t sure what I would have done if we just sat there trying to kill the next three hours.”

  “Well, cocktails and boys make for good distractions.” Magdalene replied.

  Midnight would come soon enough, and with it, all the creatures of the dark would emerge from their shadows and pits. At midnight they would be witches, at midnight they would meet in the silent dark and thin the veil into the ether to reach deep with their words to bring forth the Shade of the Endless Well, whatever that was.

  But for now, Magdalene and Kathryn Blackmoore would just be twenty-something’s in a hotel bar-new to town-looking for a couple of nice guys to buy two tourists a drink.

  IX

  The dark was endless before them as they made their way up the path to the ruins of Errol Flynn’s estate-the scene of the crime-and both women were aware of the dead that walked by, oblivious as long as they didn’t look at them; alerting the phantoms that someone could see them and talk to them, thus throwing them into a state of confusion and renewed vigor.

  One could turn a docile spook into an embittered ghost that became a danger to the living by simply looking at it and seeing it; by making it aware of its dead state, which often filled them with bitterness and regret towards the living.

  No moon shone above, and the stars were vibrant-the silent sentinels-ever watching-great entities unto themselves-careful and examinant of the worlds they sheltered, and all around them were shadows; the shadows of trees and brush, and those of the ever-closer ruins that stood in the night like atramentous guards.

  Kathryn and Magdalene had both changed into sandals after they had returned to Bungalow Four from the bar. Just as planned, it hadn’t taken long for two Hollywood production
types to slither up to the bar stools on which they sat, dressed in near-identical double-breasted suits with their hair slicked back, offering to pay for their first round of drinks, and every subsequent round after.

  It had been fun; flirting with them, touching their arms playfully, and laughing at them for laughing at their own jokes. Of course, the men had been oblivious, and really thought that they were impressing the out-of-town women and hopeful that they would bed them at the end of the night.

  It had been comical to watch the disappointment fall over their faces when, a quarter after eleven, Kathryn and Magdalene stood and said they had to leave for a previous engagement.

  She carried the cage-which was no longer draped-at her side, her fingers curled around the triangle-shaped handle, and in the other, she held the shovel purchased from the hardware store.

  Magdalene walked at her side, carrying one of her larger bags, which was filled with everything else they had picked up earlier in the day.

  They reached the ruins with that empty pool before them, and the hillside to their right-hand side. There were no creatures tonight, no winged beasts in the heavens or their shadow forms in the dark.

  There were the bats and the coyotes howling, and the rustle of nocturnal creatures in the brush. Kathryn had worried that perhaps the apparition of Manny Esteban would be lingering, that the events of that night would replay like a movie over and over again; concerned that she would not be able to escape the sense of guilt in not being able to save him.

  She hoped that he had found peace; that Manny would not linger-confused and in pain, and unable to get away from his mutilation.

  Kathryn crossed herself and sighed, saying a quick prayer for his salvation. “Alright, let’s get started.”

  Kathryn sat the cage down gently on the ground and Magdalene removed a flashlight and the chalk from the bag, handing the chalk to Kathryn and turning on the flashlight and directing it to the ground.

  “Okay.” Kathryn took a deep breath and drew a circle, two feet across and two feet wide, then, grabbing the shovel, Kathryn began to dig it out till she had removed three feet of soil from the circle.

  From that circle, she began to draw a spiral from its edge, continuing until she had spread it out to a twelve foot width, then she worked her way back around the other direction, returning to the smaller circle.

  Between the spiral she drew eighteen lines, a foot-width apart, and between each line she drew a pentagram, the crown of the stars leading like a path within the spiral to the pit at its core.

  Next, Magdalene approached with the bag, setting it outside of the circle, and removed the milk, honey, and roses. They spoke not a word as Kathryn took the milk and Magdalene the jar of honey, and began to pour these things around the pit counter-clockwise of each other.

  Finally both women took the roses and crushed the blossoms in their hands, pulling the petals from their stems and scattering them around the pit. They felt like silk-delicate and fragrant. Kathryn loved the smell of roses on her skin, and had to resist the urge to cup her hands to her face and breathe in their perfume from her open palms.

  Kathryn dug in the bag to find Magdalene’s pocket knife, and removed the pot and glass pipe, which she passed to Magdalene to pack. Kathryn looked into the dark horizon, spying the city lights burning in the distance beyond the canyon, and once again hoped that Manny was at peace and that no matter where Sheffield was in the world, she prayed that he was safe.

  Perhaps he was married or engaged to be. Perhaps he had a family and was successful at his father’s firm. Perhaps he had chosen to do something entirely different and that he was now a photographer in primitive jungles.

  Last she had heard was that he had been in Greece, but that had been years ago, and after a failed trip to Athens in hopes of running into him, of discovering him sitting in some café, Kathryn had returned empty and her mind made up that she would stop trying to keep track of him.

  Whatever was coming, whatever these things were, and whatever they wanted from her, she only hoped now that Sheffield was getting everything that he had wanted, and that he was happy.

  “Here you go...” Magdalene’s voice and her outstretched hand, offering her the pipe with the still burning bud, brought Kathryn out of her heavy thoughts and back to the task at hand.

  She took it and began to inhale, while Magdalene went to work, lighting the stick of myrrh and the black taper.

  The smoke filled her, and she held it in for as long as her lungs would allow, before releasing it in one great breath; its effects coming almost immediately. Her thoughts drifted, and everything began to tilt around her, the dark becoming disorienting and Kathryn became aware of the slightest movement of her toes and fingers.

  Her senses became heighted, and there was a new awareness-and a clarity of the invisible that filled her with wonder.

  “It’s time.” Kathryn said as she took hold of the cage and held tight to the knife. Magdalene joined her at her side. They were standing at the first step outside of the spiral, looking before them as they began to chant. They followed each star as if it were a bread crumb, Magdalene walking before her with incense and candle in hand; lighting the dim path towards the pit.

  “As above, so below. As within, so without. As the universe, so the soul.” They repeated with each step, and the deeper they moved round the spiral, the more the world seemed to separate, a subtle shift in energy that made them feel as if they were walking through some thin veil-gossamer and elastic-into a place between the natural and supernatural plane.

  In the center they stood with bated breath, and Magdalene tossed the myrrh into the pit, its thin curl of smoke rising up from the hole and perfuming the air around them. Kathryn took a deep breath and began to coo at the crow, which stood calmly in the cage, moving its head about with silent, casual inspection.

  She opened the cage and slowly slipped her hand inside, moving ever so closer to the bird’s black neck. A moment’s courage was all it took, and Kathryn trapped the crow’s throat in her iron grip, squeezing as hard as she could until the thing was dead in her hand.

  The sacrifice was always the hardest part. Taking such a helpless thing and snuffing out its life in an instant, with no chance of defending itself or finding escape.

  Kathryn held the crow above the pit, and with her other hand, she opened the pocket knife and placed the blade to its limp throat.

  “My offering is made of flesh and blood, a life traded for knowledge gained. Smell the blood and feast on the life I give. Ancient queen I call you forth!”

  Kathryn drew that blade forcefully across the bird’s flesh, the blood pooling down her bare arms and fingers, slicing through the arteries and windpipes. She handed the knife back to Magdalene and finished the task with her bare hands, gripping the thing and pulling it apart, ripping the head from the body.

  She took hold of the birds’ feet and held it upside down over the pit, letting the blood drip into the well for a moment before tossing the head and body inside.

  “Dark spirit of forever night, sinestral shade of liquid soot, hear our words...” they began in unison. “We call you... gather round from forsaken nether realms, draw near... know the warmth of our living voice upon your cold dead lears.

  “Know our spirits that calls yours from across the void, phantasmal whispers of midnight’s shade, hear our words....

  “We call you lost specter of midnight’s garden, damned soul of Luna’s light, draw near.

  “For the darkenss that ever surrounds you is ever within us.

  “Shade of the Endless Well, harken to our call! Hear us and make yourself known!”

  Magdalene quickly snuffed the candle and they were instantly lost in disorienting darkness. The night had fallen into silence, and not even the rustle of animals could be heard in the darkness.

  They listened and kept their eyes on the dark of the ruins before them, separated only by the offering pit. The quiet was unnatural, and within the circle they knew th
at they were out of time, that they stood someplace on its border, a place where the world of the spirits existed in great vibrancy.

  The waiting seemed to take forever, and yet they knew to be patient. That almost every magical act took a certain amount of patience and a trust in the power of the words. A trust in their witchcraft.

  Kathryn’s eyes grew wide and Magdalene gave a little gasp, as they watched the dark before them begin to bend, to twist and materialize, as if made of liquid, and from that liquid emerged a form-the face hooded and the body in a cloak made of the very shadows from which she emerged.

  It moved to them slowly, arms slightly bent at the side, and the night slipping off of her like water, as if stepping out of a pool of pitch.

  They knew it was a woman by the way the thing walked, and the way in which the cloak framed her body. She was as tall as Kathryn in heels, perhaps taller, and her face was hidden by the hood she wore.

  ‘Speak...’ she said. Her voice was a commanding whisper, and she made the air cold, making their skin spread in gooseflesh and their breath began to form in front of their faces.

  Kathryn’s heart pounded in her chest and for a moment she feared that she would be unable to speak. This was not Jonathan Marker, this was not Michael Donovan or some other random spirit. This was something altogether different. It was powerful and aware, and spoke with purpose.

  “What are these creatures-these winged monsters that are here in our world?” she managed to ask with shaken words.

  ‘They are of the seven judges...’ she said with a hiss. ‘They are the voice of condemnation for the Old Ones... they are the reckoning of man and the burier of civilizations... ruin is left in their wake... and the Old Ones are given retribution...’

  “Where do they come from?” Kathryn asked again.

  ‘They have been before man has been... they saw the earth come forth... they reside in the shadow realm... at the throne of Death...’