Do Not Go Gentle (33 page)

“Louie. I'm hurt. Seriously man, I'm hurt.”

“Yeah, you're gonna be seriously hurt if you don't start talking.”

“It's Peeper, Louie. You remember me, don'tcha?”

Louie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, unfortunately, I do remember you, ya little punk. It's about time you got back to me—I been leavin' you messages all over town.”

“Well, jeez, Louie, I'm a busy man, you know.”

“Oh yeah, busy man? Well, I need answers to some questions, so you'd better make some time for me.”

“Sure, Louie, sure. Like what?”

“Like what you told Cal Cushing right before he got whacked.”

Silence hung in the air like a dark cloud for several seconds. “How'd you know about that?” Peeper asked in a subdued voice.

“How do you
think
I know it, numb-nuts?” Louie growled. “I still work for the family—I'm only semi-retired. Now talk.”

“I dunno, Louie,” Peeper replied nervously. “Cushing got killed over it, and from what I heard, it wasn't pretty.”

“Just like you're going to end up if you don't stop fucking around with me, little man.”

“Okay. I'm assuming the usual compensation for this information, right?”

“You mean, you get to keep on the right side of the grass
, testa di cazzo
?” Louie rumbled. “You get to stay in one piece, dickhead?”

“Yeah, sure, that too, but I mean, I gotta make a living, Louie. Man's gotta eat, ya know?”

Louie sighed, raspy and ragged. “Tell you what, you worthless
cagata
. You start talking, and if I like what I hear, I'll make arrangements for you to get paid, but if I
don't
like what I hear—”

“Yeah, sure, no problem, big man. You got it,” Peeper hurriedly agreed. “About a week before he got whacked, Cushing told me to nose around about that cult group, the Disciples of Whatchamacallit.”

“Endor. Unh-hunh.”

“So, I was hanging at a Chelsea strip joint, watching some of da regular gals doin' their numbers, and I starts talkin' to this guy sittin' beside me, ya know, talkin' about the gals and their routines, I mean, some of ‘em are damned fine, but others—”

“Get to the point,
porca vacca
.”

“Okay. So after a coupla beers, I find out this dude's in the Mazzimah.”

Peeper now had Louie's full attention. “Okay. What'd he tell you?”

“Well, after that, I started buyin' us some whiskeys, since I knew I needed to get as much outta him as I could. I only bought the bar booze, mind you—”

“I don't give a shit
what
you bought him—just tell me what you found out.” Louie's voice deepened even further, sounding like a small rockslide.

“Yeah, sure. Dude asks me what the craziest thing I ever seen was. I give him a BS answer about a couple a whores and a chicken, and then he starts spillin' his guts about seein' this broad they'd kidnapped sucked dry by the high priestess or whatever she is of that cult.”

“Okay, good. What else?”

“So finally the guy tells me that this cult queen's got a ‘secret hideout' in the North End. So I asks him where and widdout thinkin,' he tells me it's across the street from Copp's Hill. Then he gets a scared look on his face and he won't tell me anything more. It's like he finally realized that he's been talkin' too much, so he heads out.”

Louie waited for several seconds. “So is that it?”

“Yeah,” Peeper replied. “Ain't that enough? That's everything I told Cushing, and he seemed real happy to hear it.”

Louie sighed. “Alright then. You get to keep sucking air, even though you're the biggest waste of oxygen I ever seen.”

“Aww, you don't mean that, Louie.”

“
Stai zitto
. Shut up, little man, and quit while you're ahead. You go to Stanza dei Sigari tomorrow night and tell Frankie that you're there to pick up your mail.”

“My mail? I don't get no mail there—”

“No,
idiota
, but there's gonna be an envelope for you there tomorrow night, è chiaro?”

“Oh, I gotcha, I get it.”

“Took you long enough. Call me if you hear anything else.”

“Sure thing, Louie. You can count on me.”

“Don't make me laugh,” Louie said, cutting off the connection. Stanza dei Sigari was a cigar shop/bar down the street from Louie's townhouse. He had a standing arrangement with one of the bartenders to pass along payments or other deliveries on Louie's behalf. Louie finished his wine, replaced the phone on the kitchen handset, and then stumped back to the recliner. Willy and Nilly greeted him, jumping to various perches on their gym. “Good, good, little ones. Papa's gonna call the Mick with this info, then we'll watch some TV, eh? Maybe see what's on Animal Planet?” Louie sat with a sigh, picked up the phone, and gave Jamie a call.

* * * *

Sedecla descended a spiral staircase in the far corner of her bedroom that ran down through each floor of her townhouse and into the hidden caverns that lay beneath. Every landing had secured doors, each requiring the entry of a unique code to gain entrance. Since the successful break-in by Cal Cushing, Sedecla had instructed Tomás da Silva to improve all of their security. Consequently, all of the door entry systems had been upgraded to more sophisticated systems.

It was midnight, the time of greatest power for her, as Sedecla entered her subterranean complex to perform her rituals. She was dressed simply, in a loose black silk tunic, edged with purple satin, tied about the waist by a simple wrought gold belt. Her hair was tied back with a golden clasp with a black ring that showed a Mandean
skandola
identical to the image upon the black iron ring on her left hand. Sedecla walked through the updated smugglers tunnels to the amphitheater cavern that was the center of her complex. Off to one side, there was another steel reinforced door with a keypad. To gain access to this room, she had to not only enter the proper code, but successfully pass voice, palm, and retinal scan identifications. Only Sedecla was permitted into this room.

As she entered, automated lighting turned on—infrared lighting that cast a pale, ghostly illumination upon a small basalt altar centered in a fifteen-foot, circular raised platform of polished black mahogany. Sedecla walked a narrow mahogany path that ran from the door to the platform, into which an eleven-pointed silver star had been inset—the altar stood at the center of the star. The floor of the room, about twenty feet square, was covered in a fine, whitish powder—ground-up human bones from an ancient graveyard that Sedecla had discovered during the expansion of the tunnels and cavern. Placing her altar and platform above such a site served to intensify the effects of her rituals. The air in the room was musty and stale. It felt like the air one would inhale after cracking the seal of an ancient mausoleum.

Upon reaching the platform, Sedecla walked to a small acacian box built onto the far edge of the circle. She opened the box and took out her ritualistic tools—eleven black candles, each about three inches in diameter and twelve inches tall. She placed them into holders built into the perimeter of the altar. Sedecla bowed her head and softly chanted in Aramaic as she lit each candle. She poured incense from a leather pouch into a small iron brazier, and then lit it. Next, she removed a
janbīyah
, a small, curved dagger, with a
saifani
hilt made from rhinoceros' horn, followed by a slender wand, a foot-long piece of ivory that had been heavily scrimshawed with black runes and bound at both ends and the middle by dark bands of platinum. Reverently, she withdrew a small stone statue depicting a shedim, or demon, and placed it upon the altary. The final item was a small, black, marble chalice, about six inches in diameter, adorned with a copper Mandean
skandola
, which she filled with dark, blood red wine.

Sedecla began her Qliphotic ritual by directing the
janbīyah
toward each cardinal direction, purifying the site. Then she closed her eyes and meditated for several minutes, emptying her thoughts as much as possible and centering her remaining thoughts in her back brain, the primal portion of the brain. Upon opening her eyes, Sedecla then performed the Opening of the Seven Gates. First, she drew a circle about the altar, along the lines of the eleven-pointed star, then replaced the
janbīyah
upon the altar, and picked up her wand. She pointed the wand to the cardinal directions, then the ground, the heavens and herself, intoning ancient prayers for each gate.

Sedecla closed her eyes and awaited the arrival of the forces. After a few moments, she felt the temperature plunge, and the air became thick and heavy. She felt as if she were moving underwater, sluggish and fighting against the power of the summoned forces. Sedecla completed the Opening of the Seven Gates by holding the chalice in each direction, greeting each demon by name, and offering a toast to them, taking small sips with each toast.

Next, Sedecla performed her ritual of evocation—she took her wand, and softly chanting again in Aramaic, tapped the stone statute of the
shedim
three times. After a few seconds, a variegated haze, filled with black sparks, coalesced about the statue. The haze slowly coagulated into a murky form—two feet tall, its shape seemed fluid, but most often appeared as a being with a flat, cobra-like head and hood that outlined a long neck as it descended into a roughly humanoid body, with four clawed arms and two clawed legs. The
shedim's
skin shifted constantly from black diamond scales, to shaggy unkempt fur, to pestilent human skin, and back to scales. Unlike a cobra, the
shedim
had triangular ears that sat at attention upon each side of its head, four ebony eyes, and fang-like chelicerae, like a spider. The
shedim's
form obscured the stone statue in its multi-colored haze, which slowly diminished into a mantle-like form that surrounded the being. At length, the shedim's arms twitched, and finally, it turned its unblinking gaze upon Sedecla and addressed her in a buzzing, dissonant voice.

“You call upon me again, witch,” the
shedim
stated in a harsh susurrus.

“I do,
shedim
.” The word was Hebrew for demon, and while Sedecla had worked with this particular demon for a long time on her Qliphotic studies, she did not know his name, for names are power. Sedecla was not in command of the demon—it was a partnership. “I offer you the agreed upon tithe of energy.” Sedecla pointed her wand at the demon, and the
shedim
opened all four arms wide, accepting a stream of energy that flowed in a sparkling cascade from the wand into the demon's embrace. Its body glowed as it absorbed the energy.

When the stream ceased, the
shedim
bowed. “You have fulfilled your part of our pact. Now I shall assist you.” The pair began a familiar invocation, one they had been performing and expanding for months, as the
shedim
assisted Sedecla in mastering the Necheshiron, the twenty-two paths that traversed the ten Qliphotic spheres that constituted the Tree of Death. The invocation consisted of the
shedim
raising each path by name. Sedecla then responded by chanting the aspects of the spheres connected by that path. There were various magical and mundane studies and tasks required before Sedecla could comprehend and detail the aspects of each sphere. Once she had completed the requirements for a sphere and its paths, Sedecla was then able to walk the path by evoking the aspects of that sphere and path. They were steppingstones—she could only reach the next step of her studies by treading mystically upon each stone that made up her path. With each incantation of a path, the
shedim
pulsed and glowed, emanating a dark energy. As Sedecla chanted the aspects of each path, her shape shimmered, as if it no longer existed solely in our world.

Having now traversed the fifteen paths she had mastered, Sedecla sank to her knees and attended to the words of the
shedim
, who began instructing her in the nature of the sixteenth path, A'ano'nin, which leads from Thagirion to Harab Serapel, where lust and suffering are transcended through burning fire into ecstatic energy. The energy stolen by Sedecla from her human sacrifices were absorbed by the powers integral to the path, and upon completion of this demonic lesson, both the
shedim
and Sedecla were drained. As the Qliphotic lesson concluded, Sedecla now knew the tasks and studies she must perform to master A'ano'nin. Both her form and that of the
shedim
slowly reverted to their normal appearance.

The
shedim
turned to her and rasped, “You dare much, witch. Are your powers and stamina sufficient to this task? Many have attempted this and no one has yet to succeed.”

Sedecla drew upon her inner strength and glared at the
shedim
. “Do not presume to judge me, demon. We are partners, and you are my guide, not my superior.”