Chaos Magic (7 page)

Chapter 17

CALYPSO COLLAPSO

Finally Alan heard the rattle of keys. He readied himself to fly at his gaoler. The door opened but this time it was Simon Magus who entered the room; dark circles under his eyes and the smell of brimstone on his clothes. Alan saw that he carried a small shiny device in his left hand.

“It’s a high voltage pain dispenser,” he said following Alan’s gaze. “Want to try it? In fact, please do. It’s been a long night and I haven’t time for this bullshit.”

Eddie Brocade had entered the room behind him. Alan slumped back on the bunk, holding his wrists together as if they were still bound.

“Where is the detective? Talk to me now, it will be cleaner and simpler. After me,” he nodded towards Eddie Brocade, “nothing will be clean or simple.”

Alan elected to say nothing – instead deciding to play the part of a weak and confused old man with a dodgy heart; some of which was true. Eddie came closer and stood over him, getting in his face to deliver some sadistic threat. Alan prepared to launch himself but as he did so he saw in his peripheral vision Simon Magus raise his arm...then there was only unbelievable pain, followed by darkness.

Chapter 18

TRANSDIMENSIONAL PORPOISE OF LOVE

I found myself without any playmates; this made Darren a glum boy. In order to ameliorate this new feeling of abandonment, a sensation compounded for the worse as I was forced to remember and confront all the carefully catalogued remembrances of similar past desertions, I sought to console myself by climbing to the top of my lonesome tower and there to lose myself in some new tangent to my paranormal and insular studies. Detective Z and Alan having both elected to go ‘off grid’ and therefore, I sulkily reasoned – I would do the same.

To make the most of the occasion I had armed myself with several items – the most unusual and potent amongst them a vial of a herbal alkaloid extract possessing hallucinogenic properties and reputed to imbue the imbiber with the ability to walk through walls and other similar shamanic and oracular faculties. Maybe, I reasoned, this cocktail would give me access to the sideways world – the realm that had eluded me ever since my one successful sojourn to its shores, where I was able to retrieve the message from Lorna Z that had set the current phase of my engagement in the battle between light and darkness in motion. The other key components to my retreat were a ham sandwich and a flask of tea – there being no catering facilities extant in the ancient watch-tower I had prepared to repair to. Who knew what kind of sustenance I might require after the probable travails of my planned astral journey. I thought I had anticipated all eventualities – I was wrong.

Foolish cove! I hear you say: climbing a blamey tower with a pocket full of trip oil; has he never heard of those sixties acid causalities who, in addition frying their brain pans and becoming trapped in a meta-psychosis of flashback and catatonia for the rest of their lives, thought they could fly, and whose numbers include some who found out the hard way that they could not? My response would be: whilst it may be true that those early pioneers of sensory derangement may have produced numerous jam-fests for the unhappy council workmen to attend and scrape after unsuccessful inaugural flights, I would counter with the point – they simply failed to read the instruction manual.

I, by contrast, had; should I choose to sally forth thus. Neither had I any intention in falling for the Icarus deception and becoming unglued from my means of propulsion in the afterglow of my aviatory soarings – not I.

I planned to reach my destination courtesy of the 419 from Hammersmith bus garage, but as we crossed the Thames, our vehicle lurching over the lumpy tarmac, I began to feel that I was being watched; that someone’s eyes were boring into me; my previous mood of fluffy anticipation evaporating, to be replaced by one of edgy paranoia.

At the first bus stop I stood up, slung my man-bag casually over my shoulder, rang the bell and made to get off, trying not to catch the eye of any of my fellow travelers. I was, however, able to scan their faces anonymously from behind my Raybans, trying as I did so to detect any sign of inappropriate interest – to my untrained eye there seemed to be no takers for such a passenger profile. I got off the bus – just me, and then watched as my ride trundled off and was then just part of the weekday traffic – all going someplace - but without me.
Fuck-a-dog!
I said out loud to no one in particular, turned up my collar and began to tramp back towards the river, considering my navigational options as I did so.
Don’t be such a sorry spoon,
I told myself –
let’s
extract something positive from adversity
.

A path led down to the southern bank of the Thames, and I took it, quickening my pace with each stride in anticipation of some hidden outcome that may wait just around the next bend in the river.

After I was confident that no one was following I relaxed and began to enjoy my surroundings as I took the longer but more scenic route to my original destination of Mortlake; every-so-often there was a break in the tree-lined embankment affording me views onto and across the river. The tide was up but not high enough yet to spill over on to the towpath. But it was only a matter of time before a tidal overflow would hamper my progress. This was because today was the day of Wesak – the first full moon of the month of May. The fluvial flow would achieve slack tide in an hour or two and it would be notable because the lunar apogee would produce a ‘spring tide’. Not a term that refers to the season but to any high tide, although, of course in this particular case – it was
spring
too. I sat on a bench and poured myself some tea. I ate my sandwich. Nobody came by and said,
Darren-boy, please wait
. So I drank my potion. Nothing happened.

Wesak is a time of great importance in the Buddhist world. Apparently, according to the theosophist Alice Bailey, the ageless spirit of the Lord Gautama and the Maitreya join together to preside over a ceremony that takes place in a lost valley somewhere in the Himalayas. Spiritual enlightenment awaits those chelas and disciples invited to the event, where the participants enact a magical ritual of transformation that modifies the reflected solar light of the full moon in order to both heal our planet and effect an evolutionary change in the consciousness of the inhabitants – that’s us.

All well and good you may say. But as I sat there watching the waters of the Thames rising ever higher it occurred to me that if anyone was to systematically disrupt this occasion, on which the trans-dimensional energies were being balanced and released, then the consequences would be grave.

The thought that I may have stumbled upon the Modus Operandi of the
Brotherhood of the Serpent
filled me with fear and excitement. However there was another encroaching realization that too was gaining traction in my mind: it was Lorna Z. I was lovesick. We had never met but I knew she was somewhere out there. I had over the last few weeks developed the habit of saying her name over and over to myself. And so despite the knowledge that we were entering a time of heavy reckoning when all alignments and faiths were to be stress tested by the approaching vernal currents, all I could manage to do was to sit there on my bench watching the waters rise and saying her name.
Lorna Z, Lorna Z, Lorna Z.

I was powerless to move and after a while water began to encroach onto the path. I looked out over the widening expanse and saw that the slick surface was clothed with pale mist that seemed to hang there, gradually becoming miasmic. I could see pulsations of orgone energy flickering across the sky and through the atmosphere; the breeze in the trees behind me fell silent. Into my field of vision I saw a black fin, gliding through the water out in midstream. It began to inscribe an elliptical arc towards me and my bench. By now water was sloshing around my feet and I had to climb up onto the back part of the bench.
Holy fuck!
I remember thinking -
off my face, marooned in the floodtide, in the grip of an approaching planetary singularity, with the avatar of some trans-dimensional being disguised as a shark about to make contact.
How did it come to this?

“Lorna,” I croaked.

When the fin was only yards away I could see it was a deep lustrous black, edged in gold. It had cut a path through the mist to find me. The river was no longer running, the tide not pulling one way of the other, an equinoxal slack tide had arrived, and just beneath the water’s surface there was a phosphorescent shape hanging there in the still waters of the Thames. From all elemental sources - the rivers, the oceans and the sky; between all poles – geographic and electrical; and across the space between celestial bodies – gravity’s pull paused between inhalation and exhalation.

I leaned forward from my zone of safety upon the bench on the edge of the universe and reached out my hand. As soon as it touched the water the thought came to me: that this was a moment for baptism and I must immerse myself completely.

Suddenly I recoiled – a turd was floating by and then I saw another. A breeze sprung up and when I looked out onto the river I saw only wisps of the grey mist and my companion was gone. I hurriedly wiped my hand on my coat to remove all trace of the tainted waters, and as I did so I saw my watch read twelve-noon.

So that was it – by high tide tonight the battle would be won or lost. I heard a voice calling from over the water – a woman’s voice.

Make haste, make haste,

or Lorna will be lost in the wastes.

Use gravity’s pull

when the moon is full.

Then a jumbo jet on its flight path to Heathrow rumbled overhead drowning out any more. I jumped down from the bench and climbed the nearest embankment, hopped over a fence, wriggled through a hedge onto a football pitch and began my soggy trek back to civilization.

I was only a stone’s throw from Mortlake and so repaired to the tower, which had been my original intent but by now I was too played out to even remember my reason. After a while I opened the chest and placed the objects of divination on the table in front of me. The obsidian wand I set aside and concentrated my attention on the dark mirror. After a while shapes began to form around the edges, flickering in and out without manifesting anything other than vague and abstract patterns; I shifted my gaze to the deep dark centre, and after a while was rewarded.

I saw a room of crystal, I saw Lorna prone on an altar, surrounded by a hellish vision straight out of the Hieronymous Bosch playbook. And above it all a vast black denizen of the night – wings spreading out until all became darkness and even the nightmare was obliterated. By the time I looked away my heart was racing and a cold fear had crept into my soul. I hurriedly put the mirror back into the chest, the obsidian wand I put in my bag. Then I left the tower.

Chapter 19

BROTHERHOOD OF THE SERPENT

Eddie had used the
Burundanga
on her straight away – it was his favored method. In Europe pretty much unknown but in Bogota it was rather more ubiquitous in its use than the travel brochures acknowledged. The clear and odorless liquid sneakily dropped into tourist’s drinks, its effects of increased suggestibility and compliance giving it the nickname of the ‘CIA drug’; the appropriate memory slot a lacuna of forgetfulness when Rolex, travelers checks, passport and pants were found to be gone. An altogether more esoteric effect was that it could give prophetic dreams and according to legend produce shamanic states.

Larger doses produced deep unconsciousness. Lorna’s pale skin was suffused with a blue tint from the spots as she lay on the hospital gurney somewhere within the
Vertical Abyss
; she did not seem to mind their brightness. Neither did she seem to mind Eddie, his cheek only inches from her closed eyes, inhaling deeply the scent of her hair. He was concentrating on the damp swirl that adorned the nape of her neck. He was being ecstatically tantalized by the suggestion of a fragrance that he could not quite place, emanating from the creature before him. He was just about to stroke the spot, possibly with his tongue but definitely with his fingertips, when Simon Magus entered the room.

“Shouldn’t we be getting enrobed?”

Eddie straightened up. It was true there was much to be done before ‘midnight on earth’. He had wanted to prepare Lorna himself, but there were orderlies who were skilled in this procedure. Meanwhile the whole of the obverse side of the
Vertical Abyss
was on standby – the entire upper echelon of the
Brotherhood
were gathering for tonight’s eclipsing, some members still arriving from far flung outposts in order participate in the approaching adoration of
Baphomet
. Several hundred robed and chanting hierophants would later gather in the glass pyramid atop the
Vertical Abyss
in order to writhe in their deity’s ectoplasmic oozings, their minds ripped by alien currents – all this to be channeled through the body of the exquisite Lorna Z.

“For sure, let’s get with the program,” said Eddie pleasantly. “But shouldn’t we be inspecting the temple first.”

“For sure, for sure,” said Simon holding the door open.

All the while Eddie was feeling the thrilling tingle of anticipation energizing his etheric body; Simon had promised him that when the time came - he would be first. He tore his eyes from Lorna and left the room.

Tonight all the initiates would wear white robes, an indication of their intention to usurp the power of Alpha world; almost like a false-flag operation into the sideways realm. Eddie followed Simon’s broad back along the corridor still trying to tease the origin of Lorna’s fragrance from some lost tributary of his memory. Tonight, all would wear white except for the
Dieucifor
, the master of ceremonies, who would be resplendent in blood red robes – and tonight, as always, Simon Magus would assume that role.

Together that stepped into the elevator and Simon selected the topmost button on the panel. The glass pyramid that they were smoothly ascending to was the exact same proportions as the original in Giza. Eddie noted in the unforgiving light of the elevator that Simon looked pale and exhausted – of course there would be energy aplenty available from the medicine cabinet – same as there ever was, but Eddie saw something more, or at least thought he did.

He wondered if Simon was able to intuit in some way the plan that Eddie had formulated: That when the ceremony was at its height he would simply draw a knife from beneath his cloak and sever Simon’s jugular, claiming that Lorna had awoken and grabbed the ceremonial dagger from the altar and that it was obviously Papa Legba’s will. At that moment, although surrounded by a thousand orgiastic chelas, he and Simon would be cloistered within the
Peristyle
, a makeshift enclosure made of tropical hardwoods that was the only concession to the Voudou roots of the ceremony it resembled an elongated shed with just one window and one door, where Lorna’s ritual sacrifice would take place. With Simon gone he himself would be free to assume the title of
Dieucifor
.

Simon was indeed looking at him strangely, it seemed. He made an effort to push such thoughts aside and instead to concentrate on Lorna. He imagined how she would look when prepared – lying naked on the altar, silver serpent bracelets around her wrists and ankles -
my
blue-lidded daughter of the sunset,
he thought, savoring the phrase remembered from Aleister Crowley’s writings, most of which he knew by heart.

The lift doors opened straight on to the atrium, now transformed into a temple of blasphemy. Two huge glass tanks were set in the centre of the floor. They were covered with black sheets to prevent the beasts inside from becoming restive before their big night. Each anaconda was over fifteen feet in length – these ‘serpents of the moon’ would draw black rays from the penumbral vortex of the priestess – to be later used in the alchemic joining of fire and secretional vibration – their toxic excretions the isotope for all subsequent Chaos Magic practiced by the
Brotherhood of the Serpent
for the next twelve months.