by L R Deney
“Damn.”
“I know. I’m kind of disappointed in myself, really. Whoever is behind this is very powerful.”
Melanie offered her a hug that was graciously accepted. “So now what?”
Staci frowned, glancing at the floor. “Unfortunately, I don’t know.”
Melanie looked at her with surprise.
The witch caught the look with her gaze. “I’m not an actual investigator, so I don’t know what to actually do in this situation if my magic is unable to help. It was the strongest ward I’ve had the displeasure of running into in a long while.”
“What was it like?”
“Everything you’d expect from such a despicable ideology. Dreadful.” Her thoughts wandered back to the Schwarze Sonne overpowering her as if it tried to consume her. Did she inadvertently glean a bit of information about its nature and power during her brief encounter? Just what did she experience? Not only was it an exceptionally powerful ward, it was also exceptionally unusual.
I may have to consult my books on this matter, she thought, biting her lower lip. She felt… unsettled?
“Are you going to be okay?” Melanie asked. “You look a little… distant.”
Staci held up her hand dismissively. “I’ll be fine. I just need to rest for a little bit after this. Get some R&R.”
She smiled.
“Okay,” Melanie replied with a small, supportive smile in return.
“Honestly, don’t worry about me,” Staci said reassuringly as she broke away from the embrace. “Worry about your friend Kimberly. We have a difficult case ahead of us, and we have no idea what her kidnappers have planned for her. I promise you I’ll do everything I can to help you find her.
“Once I figure out what those things are.”
Melanie nodded before following Staci out of the room. They weren’t going to find any more clues here. Staci was certain about that.
“Feel like Starbucks, Melanie?” she suddenly asked. “I feel like Starbucks.”
“Starbucks is fine.”
Chapter 4
Staci Drenvauder sat alone at a table, pouring over all manner of esoteric books from her vast collection, trying to determine the true nature of the Schwarze Sonne. Nearby were a couple of Seattle newspapers, each containing an article discussing the disappearance of two more Seattle citizens, one African-American, the other Hispanic. Both involved the same “graffiti” from Kimberly’s disappearance. The police were starting to catch onto the idea of some kind of hate group activity, but they still didn’t have any leads. And she didn’t expect them to find any.
She had been at it for nearly a week since her and Melanie’s visit to Kimberly’s apartment and she was finding little info on the Schwarze Sonne that wasn’t repeated over and over in the books she had. What she did find revealed that the Black Sun symbol the Nazis used was based on an ancient Germanic symbol of very similar design. The symbol that the Nazis adapted was a mosaic on the floor of Castle Wewelsburg that the SS used as their command post. A lot of mysticism was ascribed to it, representing an “invisible sun” or a mystical force that would rejuvenate the so-called “Aryan race.” One of her sources called it the “strongest, visible expression of God.” She had to roll her eyes at that one.
I’ve met demons, and someone who claimed to be the Devil, but I’ve never come across “God,” she thought disdainfully. And the pagan gods aren’t very impressive either….
Nevertheless, the symbol became inextricably linked with Nazi occultism by the time of the Third Reich. It was, undoubtedly, a symbol of hate shrouded in mysticism and religious quackery. Whatever it was originally was lost to the sands of time.
But then, perhaps there is more information on this to be found elsewhere, she contemplated. My library is not limitless.
Growing exhausted, pinching the bridge of her nose, she pushed away the book she was reading. Her frustration was severely growing and she was wasting time. More people had disappeared and she’d made no progress unraveling the conspiracy. There was no choice but to petition the Council and demand that they intervene. The Nazis were using magic; that made it the Council’s jurisdiction.
After standing up, she wandered off to her bedroom. She needed to rest. Tomorrow, she’d go before the Council of Magic.
◆◆◆
The roads to the Council were everywhere, many hidden in the least expected places. Such was the practice to keep the majority of the world ignorant and oblivious to the possibilities it had resigned to mythology and fable. To keep the witch hunts from starting up again. Thus the laws against exposing any aspect of the arcane world were exceptionally strict. Staci felt that they lacked a lot of nuance, but she’d always been at odds with the Council’s authority. They often used such laws as an excuse to sit on their collective asses and do nothing.
One of the doors to this uncompromising, magical government was in the back of a corner bookstore, the Reading Dragon. The establishment was owned by an elderly, balding elf who kept his hair long to hide his pointed ears. His gray eyes brightened when he saw Staci step in through the front door.
“Oh lass, you just keep getting more beautiful by the day,” he said with a wide, charming smile.
Staci winked back at him. “Still a lesbian, Aguistin.”
“Alas, a sure loss for men everywhere,” he said in mock despair, then leaned forward over the check-out counter. “How can I help you, looking for a book or just… passing through?”
“Just passing through,” Staci answered, stroking her chin with a curious glance to a random row of books.
Aguistin chuckled. “Are you sure? I know that look. It was once worn by a young man who came in here years ago who seemed very unsure of himself.”
“Shush,” Staci retorted, waving dismissively at the old elf. “But then, perhaps you’re right.” She grinned, and leaned forward on the counter, her nose nearly touching his. “I’ve been looking into a grave mystery recently. It involves der Orden der Schwarzen Sonne.”
The elf blanched. “Ugh, that’s a name I hoped never to hear again. You know that they hunted my people to learn the secrets of our magic?”
Staci grimaced; she did indeed recall that fact from her studies. “I have reason to believe that they’re behind the recent wave of kidnappings.”
“Kidnappings?” Aguistin’s brows arched in alarm.
The witch tilted her head. “You haven’t been following the news?”
“Our news or their news?” Aguistin pointed his thumb toward the window on the latter.
“Their news.”
“Bah, no,” the elf huffed in dismissal. “I do not care much for their world aside from their great works of literature.” He waved a hand at the rest of the bookstore to emphasize his point.
“Well, three Seattle citizens have disappeared, and each crime scene has had the Schwarze Sonne burned into a wall. There are Nazi sorcerers active in the heart of one of the most liberal states in America.”
Aguistin turned into an unmistakable shade of white. “That’s not good.”
“I tried tracking one of the victims, but ran into a rather unpleasant ward.”
“What? My Staci couldn’t break past a ward?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes. Quite embarrassing, really. Anyway, it utilized the power of the Schwarze Sonne in its casting. All I can find in my extensive library on it is random Nazi nonsense about ‘Aryans.’ ”
“Unsurprising, they corrupted a lot of occult lore, even in the arcane world. I’m pretty sure my books probably wouldn’t add much as you already hold a vastly larger collection than mine, but I’ll give them a perusal for you.”
“Thank you, Aguistin,” Staci said, smiling sincerely.
“Anytime, lass. You’re always a pleasure to have around.”
Staci nodded and turned to head toward the back of the bookstore. Once she was near the stock door, she pulled her keys from her purse and carefully selected one. Slipping it into the lock found it to be a perfect fi
t and she turned it with a soft click. The door swung open to reveal a candle-lit hallway, too impossibly long to exist.
I swear, whoever the architect was needs a swift kick to the balls, she thought with a brief glance down at her high heels.
Resigning herself to the long walk, she stepped through the door. Without looking back, it closed shut behind her. The walk would be a lengthy one, not to mention boring considering all that the hallway consisted of was drab stone walls and floating candles. If there was a Hell, surely this was it.
Could it have hurt them to add decorative murals at least?
She didn’t know how long exactly it had been since she entered the hallway, but once she exited it and emerged in the bustling streets of Azramoas, she was relieved. Her feet hurt like hell, but she was relieved.
The street was filled with various sorts, many creatures that the world beyond Azramoas would have considered mythical or even fictional. Elves, dwarves, centaurs, orcs, etc. all went about their lives alongside a sizeable population of human spellcasters. Azramoas itself existed within its own plane of reality, created near the end of the Dark Ages as a refuge for spellcasters to avoid the Catholic Church’s witch hunts.
It was a beautiful city, unlike anything in the mundane world of Earth except perhaps what was seen in fantasy literature and film. Architecture obviously inspired by its medieval origins mixed with more modern designs contributed to its truly unique skyline. There were classical towers surrounded by crenelated walls and battlements, and right next door would be something that resembled a modern skyscraper. The sheer contrast added to its unique charm.
A few eyes turned her way as she strolled down the main road to the capitol. Shrugging her shoulders, she simply smiled and winked to those who looked. Her adoption of modern fashions wasn’t unusual to most human spellcasters, but some among the other races still found such clothing to be quaint, and her ensemble of a black mesh blouse and black skirt that terminated just several inches above the knees for a view of fishnets was sure to have their curiosity.
The capitol itself, as it came into view, was a sprawling mass of high walls, towers, and domes that evoked the most classic images of fairy tale palaces. However, unlike most fantasy imaginings, there was a stark absence of any guards or security to be seen. This was simply because in a society governed through the arcane arts, no actual guards were needed. Wards and protective spells were all that a practitioner of the Arts needed to maintain safety and security. Even the modern world’s security cameras paled in comparison to the arcane’s scrying points which provided full 360° view of the target areas.
The front gates were wide open, allowing for Azramoas’ variations on petitioners and lobbyists free access in and out. It was once you were inside the lobby that the distinction between the arcane world’s bureaucracy began to blur with the outside’s. Staci thought to herself that she could have stepped into any government office back on Earth. There was even a desk where people had to wait in line and take a number, thus the reminder that the more things that were different, the more others remarkably remained the same.
As her turn to receive her number came, the old man with a surprisingly long nose behind the desk looked up at her and adjusted his spectacles. “Oh yes, Staci Drenvauder. You are here to stir trouble again, eh?”
Staci grinned wide. “Naturally.”
The old man sighed. “I’m sure the Council will be just thrilled to see you again. What is it this time? A petition to dissolve the Council and ‘give anarchy a chance?’ ”
She found it difficult to suppress a chuckle. “Are you giving me ideas? No, I’m here to petition them for other reasons.”
He eyed her momentarily. “Forget I said anything, then. The current wait time for the Council of Magic to hear your case is currently five hours. Your number is one-thousand-and-fifteen. I hope you brought something to read.” He handed her the slip of paper with her number on it then looked past her to the rest of the line. “Next!”
After stepping away from the desk, Staci looked down at her number, then the rest of the lobby. Fortunate she got here as soon as Azramoas’ day started, if she had come any later she would have had to wait another two days; the queue to petition the Council always filled up quickly. Nevertheless, five hours was a long wait….
She wandered off to find herself a seat.
◆◆◆
The Council chamber was like any other chamber dedicated to a government body, prone to decorative and symbolic excesses, massive in scale so that voices could easily echo off of the architecture and be heard without too much effort. The Council seats were stereotypically behind ridiculously high podiums that Staci often had to wonder where that particular trend had even started. On each podium was a symbol that represented a unique tradition of magic that the representative seated behind it was elected from. There were twelve seats in total, and behind each a politician that had probably sat there for far too many years for Azramoas’ own good.
Johnathan Ravenford, Speaker of the Council, looked down at the schedule in front of him and sighed in disgust. “The Council floor recognizes… Staci Drenvauder.” He chose to ignore a few of the groans from his colleagues.
Staci sauntered toward the center of the floor bearing a large smirk. “Thank you for recognizing me, Speaker.”
“Yes, yes,” he responded, trying to appear interested, “what brings you here before us today?”
Taking in a short, deep breath, she answered, “There is a darkness rising on Earth. In the wake of their major superpower’s recent presidential election, hate has been spreading rapidly within their bor—”
“Need I remind you that the concerns of the non-magical world are not ours?”
Staci bristled a little at the interruption. “Speaker, please, let me continue. Something related to our world stirs underneath the hatred. I have become aware of a number of disappearances of people from racial minorities—”
“That is not unusual for Earth. They kill their own all the time. We will not waste our time fighting your little social—”
“Speaker, please! Let—”
“—justice—”
“—me—”
“—causes.”
“—finish!”
Both of them stared at each other for a rather long time in dead silence. It was a contest of wills as usual. Eventually Councilor Ravenford rolled his eyes and waved his hand in signal for her to continue.
“Thank you,” Staci said with a huff. “Anyway, each of the disappearances has a feature in common. Nearby, burned into a wall with perfect intricacy, is the Schwarze Sonne of the old Nazi occultist order which even Azramoas played a part in defeating seventy years ago.”
Ravenford, silent, arched a brow at her. Around them, glances and soft whispers were exchanged. Eventually, a man with long, black hair and skin nearly as pale as Staci’s, cleared his throat from a podium near the right end of the Council seats. Ravenford slammed his gavel to silence everyone.
“The floor recognizes Councilor Fromm.”
“Thank you Speaker,” Fromm replied before turning his attention. “Ma’am, I understand you have a reputation with the Council. As a relative newcomer, I have only seen you once or twice, so I am becoming familiar with why. You seem prone to excitement, yes?”
Staci eyed him thoughtfully, then shrugged. “I’ve been described as the ‘life of the party’ by some, sure. But I fail to see how that’s relevant.”
Councilor Fromm smiled and nodded. “Yes, yes. Very true, perhaps it’s not. Traditionalists find all sorts of excuses to not listen, right? But I could highlight one thing if I may?”
“Be my guest.”
“The symbol you speak of isn’t exactly unknown to the non-magical people of Earth. It may not be as well-known as an outright swastika, but it has circulated among their culture. The Order of the Black Sun was known publicly to Earth as the SS, am I right?”
Staci made a face. “Um… kind of? I mean, it was a littl
e more complex than that.”
“Right, more of an organization within an organization,” Fromm corrected himself. “But a mundane hate group would be familiar with the symbology, right?”
“Yes, it likely would.”
“So what evidence do you have that these crimes were committed by Nazi sorcerers?”
Councilor Ravenford started to smile.
“Well, the symbol was burned into walls with perfect precision. There were no witnesses and were likely placed within mere seconds. It would take a non-magical human hours to place such a sigil, and someone would have eventually seen them within such a timeframe. Furthermore, when I tried to track one of the victims of the crimes, I slammed headfirst into one of the most unpleasant wards I’ve ever come across in my practice of the arcane.”
“Is that all?”
Staci blinked at the question. “Currently. It’s why I’ve come here, in hopes to have an investigation opened. I am by no means a detective.”
“I see,” Fromm replied before gesturing to Ravenford.
Ravenford stared down his nose at Staci menacingly. “I’m sorry, Miss Drenvauder, but there will be no investigation.”
“No investigation?”
“I’m sorry, but there simply isn’t enough evidence that connects this to the work of dark magicians.”
“I ran into a ward! Didn’t you hear me?”
“I heard you, but we just have your word to go on, and that simply isn’t enough. If you can bring this Council something tangible, something concrete that we can confirm is magical, then we will begin an open investigation. Until then, our hands are tied.” He slammed down his gavel once to make the decision final.
Staci Drenvauder looked from one end of the Council to the other end. All she saw were disinterested or outwardly hostile expressions. The only one that looked the slightest bit sympathetic was Councilor Fromm. She wanted to scream and rage at them, tell them how ignorant and arrogant they were being. The urge to crack skulls was overwhelming.