Kindling the Moon
Page 7
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Ekklesia Eleusia, or E∴E∴ as it is known in the magical community, is an occult order founded in the late twelfth century in France, which makes it the longest-running esoteric society in the world. Like every other order, it’s a nonprofit, tax-exempt organization, and dedicated to the “Study, Knowledge, and Advancement of the Arcane Arts.” Kinda like Hog-warts, only with fewer wands and more nudity.
The order moved its operational headquarters from Europe to the States in the early twentieth century, along with two other occult orders. There were a couple thousand E∴E∴ members scattered around a handful of U.S. lodges. The main lodge in Florida, where I grew up, was impressive; the local lodge here in Morella is not. Fewer than a hundred members attended regular ritual services and classes here.
The morning sun was blinding as I stepped out of early-autumn shadows and made my way to the side door of the lodge. Two scraggly, underwatered palm trees flanked the entrance. I rang the doorbell and noticed a couple of rental cars in the back parking lot. This made me a little nervous, but before I could think about it too much, a short man with cropped blond hair opened the door: the Grandmaster’s assistant. He gave me a nasty little smile as he greeted me by my birth name.
“Soror Seléne, my … heart expands in your presence.”
I rolled my eyes and begrudged a formal acknowledgment. “Frater Kantor.”
“You look as if you didn’t get much sleep either last night, Soror. Too bad we couldn’t have stayed up together.” His eyes lingered over my breasts.
“That will never, ever happen, Frater.”
“A shame. With my brains and your bloodline …”
Ah, yes. My freaking bloodline. My order called me a Moonchild. Heralded as a kind of saint, I was conceived during an elaborate series of secret magical sex rituals between my parents. At best, the expected result of these rituals was to create a new godlike being, something between Jesus and Rosemary’s Baby. At worst, it was just selective esoteric breeding between two powerful and once-respected magicians.
Apart from my preternatural vision, the small silver halo—that nobody but me and Earthbounds could see—and an innate knack for kindling Heka, I was pretty sure the rest of it was a crock of shit. Still, before the Black Lodge slayings changed everything, the occult community was buzzing about my potential. I was eighteen and just coming into my abilities. I was a big deal. Now only a handful of trusted people in my organization acknowledged my existence; how the mighty have fallen.
“Speaking of my bloodline, Frater Kantor, if you continue to harass me every time I come to the Morella Lodge, I’m going to pull rank and get you kicked out of the damn order.”
“My apologies, Soror.” He couldn’t have meant it less. “Perhaps you’ll be happy to know that Caliph Superior from the Florida lodge is inside waiting for you.”
The rental cars outside … this was serious. I hadn’t seen Caliph Superior in person since I’d gone into hiding. We’d only communicated by phone and email, occasionally through our guardians.
I pushed Frater Kantor aside and walked into the lodge, the heels of my boots clicking on the tiled floor in the darkened, cool hallway. Frater Kantor locked the outside door, then hurried to get in front of me as I made it to the back offices. Before he could announce me, the local Grandmaster stood up. But I couldn’t have cared less about her; it was the man behind her I wanted to see.
“Seléne, my darling,” he said. “It’s so good to see you again.”
A swell of emotion caught me by surprise at the sight of him. It took me a moment to answer. “Godfather.”
He held out his arms to me. I stepped forward into his embrace allowed him to kiss me, once on each cheek. He smelled familiar and earthy. Safe.
Caliph Superior was in his early seventies. His once long, white hair was now short and thinning. Apart from wearing a large gold ring bearing an engraved unicursal hexagram, you wouldn’t have a clue that he was the leader of one of the most powerful magical organizations in the Western world. In his expensive suit, he looked more like a retired lawyer or someone’s rich grandfather—both of which he was. He had seven children by four different women, and a slew of grandchildren, all of whom could claim a lineage extending back to beginnings of the order. One of them would take over as leader when he died.
“Soror Yolanda,” I said, nodding my head toward the Grandmaster. She nodded back and motioned for me to take a seat in a cracked leather armchair that was grouped with several others in front of an unlit fireplace. A painting of a Sumerian war goddess hung above the mantel between a William Blake print and an engraving of John Dee and Edward Kelley evoking a spirit. Caliph Superior sat down next to me while the Grandmaster shooed away her wormy assistant.
“I can’t believe how much you’ve changed,” Caliph Superior said. “To see you in person instead of photos … ah, my goddaughter became a woman.” His eyes glazed over with emotion as he reached to touch my face.
“You cut your hair.” I smiled at him while brushing away a stray tear before it could fall.
“You grew yours out. It’s lovely.”
The last time I’d seen him, my hair was cropped short. Now it fell to the middle of my back. Naturally a dark brunette, I started bleaching the underside white-blond; Kar Yee said it made me look like Pepé Le Pew’s girlfriend.
“Contacts?” he asked.
“Yes.” Blues were now brown.
The order moved its operational headquarters from Europe to the States in the early twentieth century, along with two other occult orders. There were a couple thousand E∴E∴ members scattered around a handful of U.S. lodges. The main lodge in Florida, where I grew up, was impressive; the local lodge here in Morella is not. Fewer than a hundred members attended regular ritual services and classes here.
The morning sun was blinding as I stepped out of early-autumn shadows and made my way to the side door of the lodge. Two scraggly, underwatered palm trees flanked the entrance. I rang the doorbell and noticed a couple of rental cars in the back parking lot. This made me a little nervous, but before I could think about it too much, a short man with cropped blond hair opened the door: the Grandmaster’s assistant. He gave me a nasty little smile as he greeted me by my birth name.
“Soror Seléne, my … heart expands in your presence.”
I rolled my eyes and begrudged a formal acknowledgment. “Frater Kantor.”
“You look as if you didn’t get much sleep either last night, Soror. Too bad we couldn’t have stayed up together.” His eyes lingered over my breasts.
“That will never, ever happen, Frater.”
“A shame. With my brains and your bloodline …”
Ah, yes. My freaking bloodline. My order called me a Moonchild. Heralded as a kind of saint, I was conceived during an elaborate series of secret magical sex rituals between my parents. At best, the expected result of these rituals was to create a new godlike being, something between Jesus and Rosemary’s Baby. At worst, it was just selective esoteric breeding between two powerful and once-respected magicians.
Apart from my preternatural vision, the small silver halo—that nobody but me and Earthbounds could see—and an innate knack for kindling Heka, I was pretty sure the rest of it was a crock of shit. Still, before the Black Lodge slayings changed everything, the occult community was buzzing about my potential. I was eighteen and just coming into my abilities. I was a big deal. Now only a handful of trusted people in my organization acknowledged my existence; how the mighty have fallen.
“Speaking of my bloodline, Frater Kantor, if you continue to harass me every time I come to the Morella Lodge, I’m going to pull rank and get you kicked out of the damn order.”
“My apologies, Soror.” He couldn’t have meant it less. “Perhaps you’ll be happy to know that Caliph Superior from the Florida lodge is inside waiting for you.”
The rental cars outside … this was serious. I hadn’t seen Caliph Superior in person since I’d gone into hiding. We’d only communicated by phone and email, occasionally through our guardians.
I pushed Frater Kantor aside and walked into the lodge, the heels of my boots clicking on the tiled floor in the darkened, cool hallway. Frater Kantor locked the outside door, then hurried to get in front of me as I made it to the back offices. Before he could announce me, the local Grandmaster stood up. But I couldn’t have cared less about her; it was the man behind her I wanted to see.
“Seléne, my darling,” he said. “It’s so good to see you again.”
A swell of emotion caught me by surprise at the sight of him. It took me a moment to answer. “Godfather.”
He held out his arms to me. I stepped forward into his embrace allowed him to kiss me, once on each cheek. He smelled familiar and earthy. Safe.
Caliph Superior was in his early seventies. His once long, white hair was now short and thinning. Apart from wearing a large gold ring bearing an engraved unicursal hexagram, you wouldn’t have a clue that he was the leader of one of the most powerful magical organizations in the Western world. In his expensive suit, he looked more like a retired lawyer or someone’s rich grandfather—both of which he was. He had seven children by four different women, and a slew of grandchildren, all of whom could claim a lineage extending back to beginnings of the order. One of them would take over as leader when he died.
“Soror Yolanda,” I said, nodding my head toward the Grandmaster. She nodded back and motioned for me to take a seat in a cracked leather armchair that was grouped with several others in front of an unlit fireplace. A painting of a Sumerian war goddess hung above the mantel between a William Blake print and an engraving of John Dee and Edward Kelley evoking a spirit. Caliph Superior sat down next to me while the Grandmaster shooed away her wormy assistant.
“I can’t believe how much you’ve changed,” Caliph Superior said. “To see you in person instead of photos … ah, my goddaughter became a woman.” His eyes glazed over with emotion as he reached to touch my face.
“You cut your hair.” I smiled at him while brushing away a stray tear before it could fall.
“You grew yours out. It’s lovely.”
The last time I’d seen him, my hair was cropped short. Now it fell to the middle of my back. Naturally a dark brunette, I started bleaching the underside white-blond; Kar Yee said it made me look like Pepé Le Pew’s girlfriend.
“Contacts?” he asked.
“Yes.” Blues were now brown.
