Broken Wings: Genesis Page 3

  “Who brought him into contact with the coven?”

  The waves of shame that rolled from Pietra were so strong that she didn’t have to answer, but she did, in a very low voice.

  “I did.”

  “And your High Priestess––?”

  “Is me.”

  Damn and double damn. So much for being easy.

  “Let me guess––he has done ritual with your group as a twelfth member to raise the power level of your works?”

  A nod this time.

  “Oh, shit.” Chaz had finally caught on.

  “And where is this man staying––or do I need to ask?”

  Her lack of response was my answer.

  “How aware are the other women of what is happening?”

  “Peripherally, Yesh. That’s how Pietra figured out something was up.”

  I blew out a long, slow breath.

  “When is your next coven gathering for ritual?” I already knew the answer, but I needed time to think and Pietra needed to engage herself fully into the task of getting rid of this guy.

  “Tonight––but we were going to cancel. Some of the girls have already called off.”

  Just as I figured. Tonight was the full moon. Pretty much a standard for most rituals. I needed time to think about this and plan out my next move. That wasn’t an option, so I did the next best thing. I jumped in with both feet. The details could be sorted out later.

  “Okay.” I firmly set the empty coffee cup at the center of the table and waited for Pietra’s eyes to meet mine. I captured her gaze with the seriousness of my tone and I wouldn’t let go. No allowances for uncertainty––I needed her undivided attention.

  “When you leave here, take Chaz with you. Go and visit the members of your coven and tell them––tell them a watered down version of what’s going on. Explain to them that they will be at ritual tonight––no exceptions. Let them know you are taking back the night. But you need to make them aware that it probably won’t go down tonight. Under no circumstances are you to mention my involvement at the level that it is. For now, that is your knowledge alone, and even you need to pretty much forget the same thing in your conscious mind. Can you do that?”

  “Yes.” The High Priestess in her actually responded with strength. Good. “But how––?”

  “That information I am not going to give to you.” She didn’t need to know that I hadn’t figured it all out yet. “What you don’t know, you can’t give up to him. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, but he is expecting me back––”

  “When you go home, you will explain to him that you have taken time today to meet with a twelfth potential for the coven, bringing your number to thirteen. That should mollify him. You need to let the other ladies know that, too––but nothing about the truth of what I am really there to do.”

  Her relief at knowing that I would be there was evident.

  “Yesh, no––you can’t––”

  “Yes, Chaz. I can.” The gaze that I turned on him was firm. There was no other way––not if I wanted to get this over with. Which I did.

  “But, Yesh–”

  “Chaz, you will be with Pietra when she goes to meet with each lady of her coven. She needs to give them reassurances without backing her words up. Do you understand?”

  Chaz nodded. He wasn’t happy about it, but neither was I. High Priestesses needed to be strength for their coven. But I couldn’t afford to have her let my part in this slip out just to bolster the courage of her girls. Chaz would keep her on the right path. I trusted him.

  “When you are done, Pietra––you can head back and start your regular preparations for tonight. Chat me up to him, if you’d like. Let him know that I’m a good find, you think I’ll do well and so on. It will whet his appetite and he should pretty much leave you alone.”

  “Chaz––when Pietra is done with the coven, head back and meet me at my place. I’m going to need your help.”

  I started to get up from the table.

  “What will you be doing?” Chaz asked. “Are you going to stop by and see Father David––let him know what’s up?”

  “Nope. No time.” I gave him a pained smile. “I’m going to see a man about a dream.”

  Chapter 4

  Mahatma Gandhi once said, “Those with the greatest awareness have the greatest nightmares.”

  If that’s the case, I must have my eyes wide open because the nightmares I deal with do not always come when I’m asleep. And if it wasn’t bad enough that I had to deal with my own nightmares, I went out of my way in seeking out others’ nightmares to champion. I did have nightmares––ones that didn’t even have a connection to events going on around me. Or at least I didn’t think they did. It wasn’t anything that had manifested yet, like the one I had of the dream stalker last night.

  One in particular had haunted my dreamtime for years, for as long as I could remember. It only came through in bits and pieces, which made it even more frustrating. Wings, a gate, a big fight, and an explosion. That’s pretty much all I’ve been able to get a handle on. What I do know is that I wake up in a cold sweat every time I have it. Thankfully, it only comes on occasion. The all-encompassing feeling of dread that follows in its wake will leave me on edge for days. I’d much rather chalk it up to normal, everyday nightmares that normal, everyday people have. The problem was that I was well ensconced in abnormality, so it still makes me twitch.

  After Father David “opened” the doors for me to the realm that “doesn’t exist” as far as the church was concerned, I hunted down someone to help me get a handle on my own little nightmare troubles. My search introduced me to a bizarre side of reality that I’d never imagined existed. It also took me to the doorstep of Morpheus and his two brothers, Phobetor and Phantasos.

  An interesting aspect of my early studies with Father David was that he walked me down a path of classic literature and mythology. You have to admit, it’s a pretty strange focus for a dedicated man of the church to instill in his protégé. Then, when I was dealing with Chaz’s father, he turned my world upside down. When you stop to think about the world I was already privy to, that was pretty hard to do. The most illuminating point that I’ve ever come to learn and accept is everything happens for a reason.

  A patient Father David had led me through the old classics––Ovid, Homer, and so forth, and then on into a deep study of religious mythology––Greek, Roman, Norse, Sumerian, Celtic, Japanese––you name it. The list goes on. The stories were like candy to me. Why do people lose themselves in these fantastical stories? I found out it’s because those stories, to the book lover, are in actuality the pre-cursor to reality television.

  There is an element of truth to be found in every mythos––more than you might think. For example, when I talk about going to visit with Morpheus, Phobetor and Phantasos, I’m not talking about three wannabes. I’m talking the real deal––Morpheus, the Greek God of Dreams––the King of Sleep himself––and his brothers and partners in the dreamscape, Phobetor and Phantasos. It was a lot to swallow for someone like me, but the experience of it definitely made me a believer.

  A ringing from the headset sounded in my ears. Without even thinking, I reached down and flipped the switch from radio to phone and opened a connection. You have to love hands-free technology.

  “I’m here.”

  “Yeshua? This Father David.”

  Speak of the devil.

  “Hi Father. I was going to ring you up today.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah––Chaz hooked me onto the trail of another DS. From all indications, this guy’s managed to get to some pretty high level bull––er, stuff.”

  “Do you need help, or back up?”

  “That’s where I’m headed now.”

  “Morpheus.”

  “Yeah. He sent me a dreaming last night, so I know he has a line on this guy.”

  “Well, if you need anything more––”

  There was a tone to Father D
avid’s voice. Just because he had to accept what other members of the church wouldn’t acknowledge, it didn’t make him any more comfortable with it. He didn’t care to have dealings with any of the immortals outside his own religious purview. I understood. Having had numerous occasions to mix with them myself, they were an arrogant lot, each with their own quirks that were often far from endearing.

  “Thanks, Father, I’ll let you know how things progress.”

  I thought that was the end of the conversation, but there I go thinking again. Before I could switch off, Father David stopped me.

  “Yeshua, it sounds to me as though you are pretty busy right now. But do you think you might have some time to spare to come over?”

  “Today? Not likely. Maybe tomorrow, but I can’t make any promises as to what state I might be in.”

  “Tomorrow––?” There was a long pause. “Yes, tomorrow will do, if that’s the earliest you have.”

  “It is.”

  Something was up.

  “There is someone I’d like you to meet.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes.”

  Okay, something was definitely up and I wasn’t going to get any clues.

  “All right. I’ll give you a call tomorrow and let you know where I’m at.”

  “I’ll talk to you then.”

  “You got it, Father.” I went to switch off again.

  “And Yeshua?”

  I gave a mental sigh. “Yes, Father?”

  “Take care.”

  “Thanks, Father.”

  I was able to disconnect without any further interruption.

  Believe it or not, Father David was one of the few people I have connected to in my life, for whom I hold nothing but the highest levels of respect. It’s possible he’s the only one. I just wasn’t feeling chatty today. When I was on a mission that tended to happen. He accepted that about me. Since he hadn’t offered to wait until I had finished with the dream stalker, it told me he had some heavy stuff of his own for me to deal with. So be it. But I couldn’t afford double duty until I knew what was up with the first problem. Thus my visit to Morpheus.

  All of the legends and myths handed down through the centuries have a grain of truth to them. At least I haven’t found one yet that didn’t. That includes all of those fun stories about ancient gods. They weren’t actually gods, per se, but they were immortals.

  Now just to be clear, immortals will live forever, as long as they’re not killed by outside influences. A few of them weren’t around any more. Take Ares, for example, known to be the Greek God of War. He was killed during the fall of Saigon back in the seventies. It served him right. He was the one who kept stirring the pot so he would have a playing field in the first place. Tengu, the Japanese God of Mischief ran afoul of the President’s secret service during World War II––bad timing for prank pulling on his part, as far as I’m concerned. From what I hear, there wasn’t a whole lot left of him. And Venus, known as the Roman Goddess of Love, was taken out in a murder-suicide two years ago in Manhattan.

  Most of the immortals had been around for centuries. If they didn’t learn how to adapt to the changing moods and rules of the world around them, they didn’t last long. Many of them were still around.

  The reason for their so-called immortality, was that they had learned to tap into the source of the magickal life force of the earth. A lot of people didn’t accept the theory of the earth as a living, breathing entity. If they were to accept it, that would reduce mankind to a parasitic infestation. Well, call a spade a spade.

  The earth is a living thing, and the human race lives in a symbiotic, but parasitic relationship with her. I really don’t know whether it’s a he or a she, it could be asexual for all I know. It just seems to me that only a woman would have that much patience with destructive children.

  Of course, there is the whole magickal energy field she is imbued with as well. It is the ultimate source of life-giving and creative energy. Once again, that seems to be a female trait. Women lean more toward the whole “life-giving” thing.

  The immortals are nothing more than humans who have learned to draw from and use the magickal energies of the earth. That energy running through them as they direct its use gives them, in essence, immortality.

  The human race has pretty much forgotten how to connect, once the advent of technology rose through the ranks of popularity. Not to go all biblical or anything, but even in the Old Testament it mentions people who lived for hundreds of years. That tells you which is the true power. Technology can barely keep us functional past a hundred. Humankind has disconnected and often works to destroy the very thing that adds to their existence. And then they wonder why we’re so messed up as a species. Go figure.

  I pulled down the alleyway that took me to Morpheus’ front door. It was well hidden––he didn’t care a lot for unwanted visitors. The ones that did visit were a special breed. After parking my bike, I waited. I didn’t have to announce my presence to Morpheus. He already knew I was there. The lair-king of an opium den couldn’t afford to not keep track of who was at his door.

  The door opened to let me inside. A tall man, unspeaking, stood back in invitation. The sickening sweet smell of opiate-laced haze wafted toward me. I really hated this part. Traversing the narrow, dark, curtain-covered hallways of Morpheus’ drug-sustained lair of dreams was not my idea of a good time. You couldn’t walk those halls without falling victim to at least a subtle fog over your awareness. I certainly wasn’t immune.

  When dealing with the immortals you had to come to them on their terms, or they won’t play. Most of them had a twisted sense of humor. They all had a code of honor. That’s why I could so easily meet Morpheus on his terms. I knew he would never turn me away. As far as he was concerned, he owed me.

  “Hey, Lurch, how’s it hangin’?”

  I don’t know if that was the doorman’s name or not, but it had stuck from my first, nervous flippancy of day one and he never spoke to correct me. So Lurch it was. Before entering, I took a deep breath of alley stench and kept my breathing at a shallow minimum. I hated having my senses dulled. But that was Morpheus’ little quirk. I passed through the narrow hallways as quick as possible, the curtains fluttering behind me as I went, but never exposing the interiors of the private rooms of the lair. Or if they did, I wasn’t paying attention.

  I had a misstep at the last corner, stumbling at the foot of the stairs. Damn. The haze was working its numbing toxicity on me already. A partially opened curtain of an alcove-sized room revealed an older man, round in body with white hair surrounding a bald top. He gave me a dreamy smile and saluted me with the twisted hose of the hookah stem before placing it to his lips. As I went to turn away, a flash of clarity drew my attention back to his pale, crystal blue eyes. I was startled by that gaze and looked away. It was far too clear for the amount of opiates he was drawing in. When I looked back, his eyes were glazed and dreamy again. It had to have been the drugged smoke playing tricks on my mind.

  I tried to step quietly up the stairs, but that wasn’t possible at this point. My feet felt leaden and my movements slow. The sound of each thump echoed through the narrow stairwell twisting in front of me, ringing hollow in my ears. I will say this much about Morpheus. Of all the immortals I have met, I trusted him––or at least I trusted his sense of honor the most. If I didn’t, I would not allow this kind of drugged invasion of my body. I wouldn’t come to any harm in Morpheus’ establishment. It was a good thing the church didn’t require piss tests for my particular “employment” arrangement with them.

  As I reached the top of the stairs, the large wooden door blocking my way opened of its own accord. Without hesitation, I entered the dimly lit room and moved forward to let the door close behind me.

  Chapter 5

  I took a deep breath, trying to clear my head a bit with the fresher air in Morpheus’ antechamber. He didn’t need the opiates to induce dreamtime. Morpheus stepped in and out of that world with ease––and wi
th no drugs. He had told me once that opium had been his original “way in”, and what he offered to the people below was the chance to take hold of immortality as he had. I didn’t buy it, but I also didn’t argue.

  Phobetor and Phantasos were lounging on an array of jewel-colored pillows, seemingly as oblivious to the world around them as the people downstairs. I sometimes wondered about those two. Every time I saw them, they were in the same spot, with the same dreamy look. They rarely spoke, and if the air weren’t so clear up here, I would have sworn they were dosed.

  While they might not actually be twins, many people mistakenly thought they were. It was easy to see why. They were almost identical in looks––blond hair, blue eyes, classic “Greek” profile with wide lips, and hints of fully sculpted bodies that peeked out in places beneath the robes they wore. If they were in as good of physical shape as they appeared to be, they had to be getting up from their cushions from time to time. I’d never seen them anywhere else.

  Phobetor, the older of the two by a year, patted the empty spot next to him in invitation. I declined with a polite smile and a shake of my head. He responded with a pout and a shrug. It was a ritual we repeated every time I came.

  “Ah, the lovely Yeshua Star. What brings you to our palace of delights?”

  Morpheus’ voice was smooth, sliding across me like a caress. I don’t know how he did it, but he always made me shiver with its touch. And it was as though I could feel it touching me, leaving me longing for the real thing. He knew the effect it had on me. That’s why he did it.

  I shook off the feeling and turned to face him. Where his brothers were archetypal images of light, Morpheus was shrouded in a look that exuded darkness. It wasn’t a sinister darkness, but the tantalizing darkness that screamed dangerous, while at the same time drew you hypnotically into his arms. His shoulder-length hair was almost a blue-black, absorbing any color reflected in the room. He had the same, almost golden skin tone that his brothers had, but where it brightened their look, it darkened his. Morpheus sported a black goatee-mustache combo that framed full lips and added to, rather than detracted from the perfected sculpture of his face.