“The more things change, the more they stay the same.” This quote seems more apt as ever with the world in turmoil. At time of posting, it has been just shy of two weeks when the United States of America and Israel launched an attack on Iran. While I hope this will be in the rearview mirror when this post goes live, the current situation feels dire. Even as I go about my daily life, there is a cognitive dissonance to the fact thousands of people are dying and in my perfect corner of the world, we’re all shaking out fists at the outrageous prices of petrol.
Yet while this feels like small potatoes for someone in the city, I’m sure months down the line, we’ll all feel the bite when there’s less produce because farmers did not have the necessary resources to sow crops or prepare their fields.
Though we might shrug at a pebble thrown into a pond, the ripple effects it can have from a global perspective can be devastating. But of course, these things are all outside the control of the average citizen going about their day. How can it be that the Strait of Hormuz be closed but I, a mere blogger, can still go attend an anime convention? It boggles the mind.
Anyways, enjoy another part of Veil Between!
Luck was with us when we caught up with Adeline Faversham at Gate 42 inside the Louis Armstrong airport. She had on a pair of flashy sunglasses and was dressed modestly in a grey pantsuit. The beige suitcase she was using for carry-on sat beside her as she waited for her flight to be called.
Her lips thinned as soon as she saw us.
As Patrice took the spare seat next to her, she whipped off her sunglasses to glare at the Scotswoman. “I’m afraid the seat is taken.”
“My apologies. I suppose whoever you were travelling with will have to sit elsewhere,” Patrice answered glibly. She made no attempt to stand.
“What are you doing here?” hissed Adeline.
Patrice smiled. “Same as you. Escaping New Orleans. What with that nasty business and all a week ago. And since this is my first time in America, I thought visiting Boston would be nice. Jordie, here, is keeping me company. Bereavement leave, you see.”
Adeline turned her sharp gaze on me. I offered her a jovial wave as I hefted my backpack to sit more comfortably on my shoulders. She looked back at Patrice.
“I thought our instructions were clear,” she hissed, voice barely audible over the hubbub of the airport. “No contact. No playing the hero. We all agreed to —”
“Funny thing about being unconscious,” I interrupted. “You can’t consent.”
Adeline eyed me warily. “So, you’re the reason behind this ambush.” She tugged on her suit jacket and flicked off a piece of non-existent lint. “Look, I’m sorry about your…friend. I didn’t know him but I am sorry for your loss.”
“He’s not gone. Not in the sense you mean.”
“I’m sure you think that but—”
“He isn’t,” I said, tone sharper than I intended. “And I understand why you might have reservations. All of this is outside your wheelhouse. You were just trying to maybe reach out to your deadbeat dead dad. Maybe seek some closure. I don’t know. Then it all went sideways. A woman was killed and a man has gone missing. When Copernicus did his thing, it was easy to write this up as a nightmare and push it to the back of your mind. Any responsibility you felt was washed away with but a small sum paid and sealed with blood. Am I wrong?”
A few moments passed between us, the tension so thick, one could cut it with a knife.
Finally, Adeline spoke. “What do you want?”
“Mike. He’s still out there. I mean to find him and bring him back home. In order to do it, I need your pendant. The one belonging to your father.”
Adeline tossed her head back and barked out a laugh. When I didn’t reply in kind, she wiped the corners of her eyes. “You can’t be serious. He’s—”
“Gone,” I said. “You don’t need to keep reminding me. But we’ve done the impossible before. Why not again? If we can just—”
“What? Unleash whatever horrors lie beyond upon our world? You’ve got to be out of your fucking mind.” Adeline fiddled with her sunglasses. “My family might be rich but even they’d say your proposition was insane. And they’ve tackled all manner of downright stupid ventures. Besides, you’re forgetting one important thing.”
“Oh?”
“Unless I’m mistaken, none of us know the first thing about magic.”
I glanced over at Patrice, hoping she might chime in with an answer. After all, she had been the one to tell me about the eldritch powers beyond our knowing. Instead, she had pulled out a novel from her bag and seemed engrossed by its pages. On its cover was a man with a flowing mane of dark hair. He was wearing tight leather pants and an unbuttoned white shirt. A dashing maiden was in his arms, looking up at him with a lovelorn look.
“Maybe so but you and I both know someone who might,” I said, pulling my eyes away from the indecent scene on display. There was no mistaking what Patrice was reading. Even if I desperately wanted to. “Copernicus. Find him, repeat the ritual with those who were in attendance and maybe it’ll open enough of the barrier for us to send whatever creature that came through back to its own world and Mike will be returned to us in exchange.”
Adeline narrowed her eyes. “And how do you know this will work? What if something else comes through and kills us? We barely escaped with our lives as is.”
I shrugged. “Maybe. But it’s a risk I’m willing to take. And unless you want your name dragged through the mud, you’ll agree. If I’m wrong, well, no harm. Copernicus will do his magic thing again and keep it trapped. Then we can all go home and forget any of this happened. If you’re especially lucky, maybe I’ll be the one who vanishes.” I flashed her a quick reassuring smile, hoping I sounded convincing enough.
Mike was always better at charming others than I was. He had a knack for making the impossible sound reasonable plausible.
After a beat, Adeline let out a huff. “Father always said I was too soft,” she muttered quietly under her breath.
“Think of it as playing philanthropy,” added Patrice. “All the money in the world and what has it brought you?”
“You’re not wrong there,” said Adeline. “Fine. But, Jordan, I’m giving you one chance.” She pulled out a business card. “Here. These are the contact details of my personal assistant. Get in touch with her when you have the chance. If we aren’t overprepared then we’re underprepared. And I have a feeling we’ll need to be ready for any and all situations.”
Relief flooded through me as I took the proffered card. “Thank you. I won’t let you down.”
“It’s not me you’ll be letting down,” said Adeline, putting back her sunglasses. “It’s Mike.” She rose from her seat and grabbed hold of her carry-on luggage. “He’s the reason you’re doing all this, right? Be strong. For him.”
As the call went out for all priority guests to begin boarding, Adeline waved goodbye to them and strode towards the gate. Just before she scanned her boarding pass, she glanced over her shoulder and lowered her sunglasses.
“Oh, before I forget, I did ask Rachel to do some digging into ‘Copernicus.’ I’ll let her know to send what she found over to you as soon as you contact her.” With that, Adeline turned on her heel, pressed her phone against the reader and sauntered onto the boarding bridge.
Two down. One to go.
~
“This can’t be right.”
“It’s the address Rachel gave us.”
“Let me see that.” Before I could refuse her, Patrice plucked the scrap of paper, scribbled with Copernicus’ address, from my hand. She squinted down at the street number and name then back up at the faded 53 atop the archway. With a loud sniff, she handed the address back to me. “How well do you think we can trust this Rachel?”
I shrugged. “Does it matter? When was the last time Copernicus replied to you on the forum?”
Patrice crossed her arms. In the two and a half weeks since we had become acquainted, I’d quickly learned the Scotswoman held very strong opinions about almost everything. More importantly, she did not like it when I pointed out the faults in her logic. In her mind, she was never wrong.
I took one last look around. The windows on the first two floors had been smashed. Most had been boarded up though some had been left gaping open. Darkness swirled within. On the old brick façade, colourful graffiti had been sprayed. None of them tasteful. In one quick scan, I’d counted about thirty slurs and just as many depictions of penises.
Not quite how I’d pictured the abode of the gentleman I’d been introduced to as Copernicus. But I suppose there were multiple facets to each person.
The intercom system was simpler than I expected. It was a list of four names and their associated apartments. I pressed the button next to ‘Lyle Holland.’
It rang out for a minute or so before a voice came through, tinny and distorted. “Fourth floor. Just leave the pizza at the door. Second on your right.”
Patrice was already pushing against the main entrance before he buzzed us in.
The two of us climbed the stairs to the fourth floor. By the time we reached it, I was out of breath. Patrice, on the other hand, was still raring to go. She knocked at Copernicus’ door. A rapid tat-tat.
“Leave the pizza on the floor.” The voice, though muffled, unmistakeably belonged to the gentleman I had met at the séance.
Patrice, however, ignored his request and seemed only to hammer on the thin wooden barrier harder. For a moment, I worried she might break it down. Then, without warning, it swung open. An irritated Copernicus stood in the threshold, a scowl on his face. His gaze darted from Patrice to me, uncomprehending.
“Where’s my pizza?” he finally asked.
“We don’t have—” Before I could finish, he slammed the door shut.
Immediately, Patrice was knocking on it again. A furious rhythm that even had me sympathising for the older gentleman.
“If you don’t have my pizza, go the fuck away!”
I tried my best to keep my tone civil. “Listen, we just want to talk to you.”
“Not interested,” he responded, sharply “I don’t do charities. Or government surveys. I refuse to support girl scouts on principle and I despise donating to the poor.”
“What about having a civil discussion about all things occult, Copernicus? Or do you prefer Lyle?” Patrice said, stepping in.
A pregnant pause followed her words. Just as I was about to suggest we regroup and come back at a later date with a plan of attack, the door opened again. Copernicus blinked at us. He was dressed in a ratty shirt and sweatpants. “Boudicca.”
Patrice inclined her head. “At your service.”
He turned to me, eyes looking up and down. Puzzlement was replaced with recognition. “Mr Brookstone. How delightful of you to visit.” He opened the door wider and stepped to the side. “Please. Come in, come in. Pardon the mess, I wasn’t expecting guests.” The last was a subtle jab. One I refused to acknowledge as Patrice and I stepped through the threshold.
Discarded pizza boxes were the first thing to catch my eye followed by the mountains of black garbage bags dotted in the narrow hallway. Further inside was a couch that had clearly seen better days. Next to it were stacks of newspapers. Glancing at them, most seemed decades old. All from different outlets.
On a coffee table covered with mugs sat a deck of tarot cards. Only one card sat on its lonesome: the grinning skull of Death.
“I suppose you’ve reached out to the others despite my instructions,” said Copernicus, making space for us to sit. “No, no. There’s no need to answer. I already know why you’re here. You’re in search of dear Michael Hillier, AKA Doyle. But of course, it’s hard to find someone who has simply vanished.”
Frustration bubbled inside me. Why were people so adamant about telling me I was on a fool’s errand? “He’s not de—”
“Dead? Well, of course not. But in the eyes of the world, he’s as good as.” Copernicus raised a finger, forestalling my next protest. “People who cross between worlds, Mr Brookstone, are rare. Those who survive whatever ordeal they face there are even rarer.”
“It doesn’t matter. I know Mike’s alive. And he’s waiting for me.”
Copernicus exchanged a knowing look with Patrice. “Observe Boudicca, the folly of youth,” he said in a tone I could only describe as paternalistic. He turned back to me. “And how, pray tell, are you planning to bring him back? Will you try to replicate the séance that went terribly wrong? Or will you, perhaps, try and find a ritual in some dusty book from Aleister Crowley’s, admittedly extensive, collection?”
“Who?”
The older man shook his head, a sympathetic smile on his lips. As if he wanted to bring me into his confidence. God, how I wanted to punch the smug white bastard in the jaw. “Mr Brookstone, am I right to assume you know nothing of portents and omens? That you’ve only listened to half an ear to Mr Hillier’s various monologues on the subject?”
“Well, when you put it like that—”
“Please, Mr Brookstone,” said Copernicus, interrupting me. “I’d rather you not waste our time by saying something truly embarrassing. Suffice it to say, spiritualism and the occult are not your forte.”
I grinded my teeth. “Yes. Correct,” I said, spitting the admission out like it was poison.
It was true. I’d not thought much on the practicalities of what we were hoping to achieve. My only goal had been bringing Mike back. No matter the cost. Or how feasible it would be.
If I was being honest with myself, I’d thought what I failed to grasp would be handled by someone else. Presumably Patrice given her passing familiarity.
There was something all together smug in how Copernicus looked at me as realisation dawned. I knew then, without a doubt, he would refuse us. After all, why would he support something he knew was destined to fail?
And without him, all my curated plans of playing the saviour evaporated. Like smoke on the wind.
The grief hit me harder than I expected. I staggered under its blow. Tottering on unsteady legs, I stumbled over to the couch and sank into it.
It took everything within my self-control not to immediately bury my head in my hands.
What had all this been for? Maybe if I’d convinced Mike going to the séance was a bad idea, he might still be here with me now. We’d be back home in our apartment. He’d be teasing me about voodoo sacrifices and ghosts.
Life would continue as it always did.
The sound of cards being shuffled drew me from my thoughts. I blinked up at Copernicus seated opposite me, a fresh cup of something hot resting on the table.
How long had I spiralled?
He noticed my attention. “Curious, Mr Brookstone? I’m only doing this as a favour to Boudicca.” He set the deck on the table. “Were it up to me, I’d have asked you to leave already. Boudicca, however, is a very stubborn woman. She lives up to the online moniker she adopted. A true warrior.” He smiled up at Patrice who had found a three-legged stool and was seated on it as comfortably as if it were a throne. “Now, if you would, I’d like you to cut the deck.”
I followed his instructions, still a little dazed. What was the whole point of this exercise? To rub my face in the futility of it all? But when I tried to grasp for anger, I was met with resignation.
Nothing mattered. Why not humour the man?
Copernicus, deaf to the growing roar in my ears, continued to speak as he set three cards before me facedown. Explaining, as he did so, the major and the minor arcana. All of it went over my head.
With Herculean effort, I roused myself as Copernicus began to flip over the cards one by one. When he reached the last one, he had a look of puzzlement to his features. It seemed the reading had gone differently than he expected.
“And now we reach the future.” He flipped the card over, revealing a person dressed almost like a jester. The fool, read the bottom. Copernicus looked at the card then back up at me. “Upright, this means taking a leap of faith. Of new beginnings.”
“Maybe the cards are telling you something,” chimed in Patrice. “You know, I always had a good feeling about Jordie here. And I’ve never been wrong. Not once.”
Copernicus hummed under his breath as he picked up the cards and reshuffled them into the deck. He asked me, again, to cut them before setting three cards face down once more. He flipped them over, revealing the same three from before.
“How intriguing,” he muttered quietly to himself.
Picking the cards back up, he shuffled and then drew a singular card from the deck. He stared at it for the longest time before leaning his head back and letting out a laugh.
“What is it?” asked Patrice, leaning over his shoulder to take a look.
Before he could show her the card, the intercom buzzed. Setting the tarot deck to the side, Copernicus rose to his feet to answer it.
“I’ve got a delivery for a Mr Holland?”
“Pizza?”
“Straight from the ovens of Papa Johns.”
“Fourth floor. Second door to the right. Just leave it there. Tip’s waiting.” He pushed the button below the receiver to buzz the deliveryman through. As he set the receiver back down, he turned to me and Patrice. “All right. I’m game. But, Patrice, you must understand there will be quite a few things we’ll need to get ready.”
“Of course,” said Patrice. “I’ve already my grandniece to look into where to procure silver dust.”
Copernicus nodded. “Excellent. But don’t forget we’ll also need pure iron if we wish to have any hope of defending ourselves. Can I trust you—”
“Consider it already done,” answered Patrice. “You do know this isn’t my first rodeo. Or so you Americans like to say.”
“Boudicca, please. I’ve seen things neither you nor Mr Brookstone could ever fathom. And it has changed something altogether fundamental within my make up.” A knock came on the door. “That should be the pizza. Let’s continue this later, yes? After we’ve filled our stomachs.” He made to open the door but paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Do the two of you mind, overly much, when it comes to anchovies?”
The Writing Corner 