Dawn of the Magus: Book One: Bloodlines

         

Theoricus sat in the back of the class watching Armitage wheeze on about the ritualistic practices of ancient Aegyptus. It seemed to him only a short while ago when he'd come from Ireland to study Medieval Metaphysics and Occult Science at the Miskatonic in Massachusetts with his Uncle Elystan. Back then Professor Armitage had been an animated, nearly frantic presence in the classroom, drawing broad and revolutionary connections with Neolithic Celtic practices and Hellenistic mythology. But then he reminded himself that it had been eight long years since coming to America. His uncle, an eminent doctor of the Pseudo Sciences, had died after falling from the stained glass window on the third story. His death, ruled a suicide by police, had been a blow to the establishment and to the field Occult Science as a whole. Armitage as his uncle's close friend and partner had taken the brunt of that blow and was now aging rapidly, his hair, which had been auburn at the start of his tenure had changed over the past few years to a lusterless grey and his face became more visibly weathered and sallow with each day, a by-product, Theo suspected, of his recent addiction to alcohol.



Theoricus, who was close to completing his own doctorate, the youngest to receive such an accolade in the University's history, was beginning to see the same stresses on his own features. His youthful face, which had always been thin, had been leaned further by long hours of study and appeared gaunt and stern, his bright blue eyes had become steely and penetrating. The only saving grace he had found was his ability to still produce a genuine and warm smile, which he attributed to his friends whose constant company kept him laughing long after he would've slipped permanently into his professorial demure.



Midway through his lecture on the proper diction of a passage from an ancient invocation of Tephnut Armitage was interrupted by a knock at the door. Shuffling away from his lectern he accepted a folded note from someone on the other side and hurriedly made his way back to where Theoricus sat, lost in thought.



"Theo, be a good lad and take over this lesson for me, something urgent has come up."



Theo snapped out of his reverie, "Of course, Doctor Armitage." He said. He was used to this by now, he often thought that Armitage had requested him as an assistant only to have him teach the lessons. As Armitage gathered his peeling attachand bustled out of the door Theo made his way to the blackboard. "You may close your books."



"But are we not going to finish the lecture about the Tephnut?" a student asked.



He sighed, the girl had been asking a lot of questions today, "Miss, not that it's any of my business, but don't you have another class you should be in, you're not on the roster for this class."



"Damn," she swore, which took him slightly aback, he'd been in Ireland when he'd last heard a woman swear, "Sorry, I didn't think anyone would notice, I'm with the Miskatonic press and..."

"Some article or something, I suppose. Well, try to observe for now, if you'd like an interview later I'll try to arrange it with Doctor Armitage." She seemed pleased with herself and she moved her steno pad and bag to the front row to take better notes.



"Now if we could remain undistracted, this is what Doctor Armitage was working towards with the Tephnut lecture." He stood back from the blackboard which was now occupied by an impressive jumble of circles and lines. "Sacred Geometry." he let the words hang in the air for a moment, this is the good stuff, folks, the meat and potatoes, the silence seemed to imply, however no one except for the dark haired columnist seemed very interested. They stared blandly at the board or else flipped through the textbooks distractedly. He sighed, he had known for some time that no one that had come after his uncle and Armitage had really acknowledged the Occult Sciences as anything other than an obscure history lesson.



"So were you serious about that interview with Armitage?" The girl asked him in the hall after the lesson had concluded.



"It depends on the topic of the article, Doctor Armitage is a busy man. If the article has any academic merit then I'm sure he wouldn't mind, but..."



"I just want to do kind of a head to head comparison with the church, Since Professor Blackthorne died the churches have been protesting the school and your department in particular. I'm going to interview Father McIlhenny tomorrow, if we could get them in the same room together..."



"I'll ask, but it isn't really our goal to prove or disprove the tenants of religion. Doctor Armitage doesn't even really like talking about religion."



"What about you?"



"I believe religion is the observational field of our studies, they take a non-involvement stance on gods and demons and conjuration whereas we are right in the middle of it. It's kind of like poking it with a stick, if there is something out there we want observable and replicable results."



"Can I quote that?"



"Feel free."



--...and even as I prepare to close these pages forever and purge this damnable research from the world I can only hope I have acted in time.--



Joseph Armitage watched the ink dry on the worn parchment of his journal, knowing that he was the last and only one to ever read it. He closed the weathered leather-bound cover for the final time and drained a glass of scotch. With trembling hands he took the journal his papers, charts, maps and the aeons blackened artifact he had dredged from beneath the nighted henge on a misty highland moor a lifetime ago; he stacked them together and laid them carefully on the fire which crackled greedily, as eager as he to eradicate the papers and the unholy secrets therein. Even as the storm outside came to a higher pace his nerves calmed somewhat and he poured himself another glass of the swirling amber liquid and sipped it, allowing his gaze to linger on the rope he had hung from the ceiling. Even without a breeze in the house it seemed to sway slightly as if in anticipation of the weight it would soon support.

He looked into the glass, watching as the swirling humors of the scotch mingled enticingly with the water from the melting ice. As it was lit alternately by the softly flickering fire and the stark and unfeeling light of the lightning these liquids seemed to dance together mesmerizingly, almost...writhing! He flung the glass violently away against the mantle where it shattered, even now he would find no peace. The fire, startled by the sudden commotion, shifted uncomfortably causing the amulet to tumble out of the consuming flames. He kicked it back into the coals and climbed shakily onto his desk, fastening the rope around his neck.

"If there be gods or spirits or goodness in this universe may they forgive me for what I have discovered and for what I have now done." He took a few deep breaths to steady his failing nerves, "Theoricus Blackthorn, may you forgive me more than anyone." with that he closed his eyes and stepped off the desk. The only evidence of the last words of Joseph Armitage was on the beam from which he had hung himself where he had carved those to words in the wood.

FORGIVE ME



"Professor Armitage!" Theoricus called, rattling the brass knocker for the fifth time. "Professor, I brought my notes on Neolithic Britain, as you asked." when there was again no answer he sighed and hopped off the veranda and waded through the shrubbery to peer through the window. There were no lights on downstairs, the electricity must have been knocked out by the storm, but he could see the soft glow of firelight on the stairs leading to the Professor's study. Could he be asleep? Theo wondered for a moment, it was more likely that he was passed out from another night of drinking. It wouldn't be the first time he had driven over at Armitage's request only to find him passed out with a spilled bottle of brandy or whiskey beside him. He tried the door and found the handle gave purchase, but hesitated a moment at the threshold. "Professor, I brought the notes you asked for." He tried once more. The storm was getting worse outside and he would rather not have to drive back down the mountain till it had passed. He stepped inside, careful to wipe his shoes on the mat to avoid soiling the foyer of the extravagant home. Once inside he quickly ascended the creaking stairs to the professor's study.

Even before he approached the door the acrid smell of human waste stung his nostrils, he shook his head, suspecting a particularly bad drinking session was to blame, and turned the handle. A frantic scream filled the small attic room, it took Theo a moment to realize that he was the source of it and stop. He forced himself to look at the ghastly scene again, the professor hung from the beam about three feet from the ground, pungent watery vomit stained his waistcoat and mingled with the smell of feces, the old man's glazed and bulging eyes seemed to plead along with his carving on the beam for forgiveness. Theoricus could feel the bile rise in his own throat and fought it down. Tearing his eyes away from the corpse he searched the room for something, anything explaining the situation, a small glowing object on the flagstones by the fireplace caught his eyes. Holding a handkerchief to his nose to ward off the stench he skirted around the professor and knelt to examine it. Some sort of talisman lay on the floor, its lines and geometry hurt his eyes to look at and it seemed to give off a faint glow. He tried to pick it up for closer examination and immediately withdrew his hand, shaking it to take the fire out of the burn as the dull red trinket clattered across the floor.

The professor must have tried to burn it, he concluded. But why? Looking into the fireplace for clues he spotted the scorched cover of a leather-bound journal laying charred and tumbled amongst the dying coals. What had Armitage discovered? His investigation was interrupted by the appearance of an electric torch at the bottom of the hill, another student had likely come to check on the professor in the storm. Without quite knowing why he grabbed up the journal and searched frantically for the talisman. He spotted it underneath the professor's desk. Kneeling on the floor and wrapping his handkerchief around his hand he groped for it in the dark. He could hear a woman's voice though faint through the storm now. He grabbed the poker from the fireplace and knocked it out from beneath the desk, wrapping it in a handkerchief he slid it and the journal in amongst his papers and flew down the steps four at a time. He had just made it outside when the girl came around the corner of the house.

"Oh, It's you, could I use your phone?" She asked shivering in the cold rain. It was the small, dark haired columnist from the other day.

Theoricus wracked his brains for a moment trying to put the previous few minutes out of his mind, "Sorry, I'm afraid I don't live here; it's Professor Armitage's house, at any rate it doesn't look like his power's on."

"Oh," she sounded dejected. "It's only that I was supposed to ride home with my brother but he has to say late at the hospital and I was looking for somewhere to call a cab because no one has power down there..."

"I can give you a ride." He offered, taking off his coat and wrapping it around her to keep the rain off.

"Could you? Thank you, you're a life saver." she sighed sounding relieved.

Theoricus circled around the creaky DeSoto he'd gotten off his younger brother when he'd joined the army, and wrenched open the passenger side which always got stuck and especially so when it rained.

"Where are we going?" he asked once they were in.

"It's just across the river, in Innisboro; I'm Erin by the way. Are you Irish, can I smoke in here?" Theo blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the tirade of questions.

"I'm Theo, yes I am, and yes you can."

"Great, I knew you were, though..." She rambled on, taking a pack of Marlboro Reds and a lighter from her handbag.

"You don't say, what gave it away." He sniped, a bit more sarcastic than he'd meant it.

She seemed not to notice though, "...It's not just your accent either, though it's a dead give away, I've read up on you." She paused for a moment and he got the idea that he was supposed to say something. He looked over and she was disarmingly close, looking right at him with big emerald green eyes.

"Y-you have." He stammered forcing himself to look back at the road so he could stay on it.

"O sure, you're that brain who came across the pond and is making all the professors look bad, all the underclassmen know about you, they say the school should just make you a professor and cut out the middle man." she leaned over and exhaled a stream of smoke out of the racked window.

"Well it certainly wasn't my intention to make anyone look bad." He quite honestly countered.

"Not like you're a wise guy, just that your really clever or something." She stopped again, like she was waiting for him to make a comment, "So..."

"What?" He began to feel uncomfortable.

"So, are you really that clever?"

"Probably not..."

"What's your major?"

"Metaphysical Theory."

"Ri-ight," she drew out the word to let him know that she hadn't the slightest clue what that meant or entailed. "Bet your average is above a 90."

"It's a 99."

She gave a low impressed whistle, "You got jets on, don't ya? Me, I couldn't pay attention if my life depended on it, Excepting Professor Radcliff's Social Sciences, I could watch him talk all day." Entranced by his passenger's gift for speech he almost missed the cop waving him down in a bright orange slicker.

"Can't go that way son, river's risin', had to block off the road both ways. You an' the missus can get a room at the Holiday on main street, if you live in Innisboro."

"Oh, we're not..." Theoricus began.

"Thank you, officer." Erin interrupted leaning over him.

"You kids be careful now, road's gettin' slicker by the minute." He waved them on to the makeshift turnaround and was soon vanishing in his mirror.

"What a crock, I guess I've got no other choice." She huffed puffing out her cheek and pressing it against the glass in frustration.

"You can stay the night at my place." He offered, he didn't mind her talkativeness, though normally he would've found it abrasive, the more she talked the less he would have to think about what he'd seen and what he'd done.

"No, seriously? That's too cool..." she paused for a moment and narrowed her eyes suspiciously, "Hey, you don't think I'm fast or something, huh?"

"What? No!" he was glad it was dark so she couldn't see him blush.

"Oh. Well, good, 'cause I'm not looking to get jacketed by some bog trotting Ivy Leaguer." she tossed her short raven hair disdainfully as though unaware she were being in the least bit offensive. He raised his eyebrows speculatively, "Oh, sorry." She looked abashed, "I mean... thanks, that'd be great." that seemed to shame her into silence for a moment but before long she was at it again, "I know I probably talk too much, 'No man wants to marry a big mouth' my ma says, but I'm gonna be a journalist so you gotta get the story somehow, right?"

"Just like Margaret Bourke-White, eh?" He grinned, privately imagining her going to into the USSR mouth moving faster than her lens. The Reds wouldn't know what hit them.

"Like who?"

"Never mind." He pulled in to the lonely house at the edge of town, "This is it." He announced decorously, opening her door with a flourish. "Your public awaits, Madame."

She exited the vehicle ostentatiously, flourishing his coat like a fine fur. "Thank you, darling, for bringing me to my adoring fans." she blew two handed kisses into an imaginary crowd and they went laughing up the stairs to his apartment.



"And what time do you call this, Theoricus Blackthorn?" A lanky and belligerently drunk Boston native who had, thankfully; through years of attending the best schools his obscenely rich parents could afford, purged himself of his native accent.



"Ah, excuse me; Erin, this is Vincent McArthur, a sixty-something house frau who was tragically born into the body of a young man." He tousled the man's dark red hair and shoved him back into the apartment where he fell into a leather armchair. "His father pays for the apartment." It was a nice apartment, though small; not far from the town but far enough to enjoy the peace and beauty of the aeons nighted north Appalachian foothills. "Vincent this is Erin, she'll be staying the night so try and put on some semblance of civility."



"Civi-what?" the errant student stood and righted his disheveled waistcoat and straightened his flyaway hair by spitting into his hand and running it through his scruffy locks. "Pleased to meet you, milady." he greeted chivalrously extending his hand.

"Charmed." she grinned honestly, gripping the man's palm with only her thumb and forefinger.

Vincent beamed at her, and then turned scowling to Theo, "You know I was worried about you, driving in this miserable weather...some friend you are, leaving me here to worry without any word of where you'd be or when, if ever, you'd be home."

"The liquor is in the DeSoto." Theo sighed moving out of the doorway.

"We should all be so lucky as to have a friend like you." Vincent gushed, patting him on the arm as he walked out into the rain.

Theo sighed, "Jonathan!" he called, "Jonathan, blast it, if you're here you'd better answer."

"Aye, captain." A neatly trimmed beard under a mass of curly auburn hair wheeled out on an office chair.

"Erin, may I introduce Jonathan Marshall, perpetually overworked permanent layabout, best to stay out of its lair, it will emerge promptly at seven for its cleaning and reemerge at mealtimes. Jonathan, this is Erin."

"So I've heard. Enchanted, young miss." the man withdrew into his room with a snap of the door closing behind him.

"This is quite an eclectic group you've gathered. Brains attracts brains I suppose."

"Brains?" Vincent snorted shaking off the rain and depositing a large bag of liquor on the coffee table, "Why, this philistine is no more intelligent, my dear, than a tenderized sirloin. Do you know that he once mistook a clove of garlic for an onion? My braised lamb was utterly ruined." he wailed, uncorking a bottle of gin.

"Vincent, your tiny and tragically rubicund head would explode were you to read a single page of my journals." Theo retorted good naturedly, grabbing a bottle of scotch from the bag.

"Liquor is here, Caveman." Vincent shouted, "Come and drink with evolved friends, have heap big drunken time."

The man came bounding out of his room and cradled the bottle of small batch bourbon as though it were a suckling child, "Get bent, Vincent." he retorted sharply, if somewhat delayed.

"Erin, you, of course, have full use of our facilities, if you would like to take a shower we swear on our honor not to drink in earnest until you are done. Right gentlemen?"

"Aye, Captain." the other two chorused.

"Well, how gentlemanly," she laughed, "I think I will take you up on that." she sauntered off to the restroom.

"Well done, you sly dog." Vincent clacked, prodding him with an elbow whilst garnishing his gin and tonic with a floridly zested lime.

"Too right, who's the skirt Blackjack?" Jonathan awed.

"Not important." He waved the subject away, dropping an ice cube in a glass of scotch. "Now listen here, gents," He gathered them around with the hushed tones of his voice, "something wicked, I believe, stirs in our fair University."

He related to them as quickly as possible all the events he had witnessed that evening including even the part about the journal and amulet, when he was done Vincent was the first to respond giving a low whistle, "Boiled bones, Blackjack, what rotten casserole did you half bake in that melon that you would go and do something like that."

"Well, it's true I didn't really think of it at the time but I think I want to figure out what made him do it." Theoricus said fervently.

"You're bonkers, mate. Absolutely, crackers." Vincent scorned, downing the gin he had scarcely touched throughout the story in a single go.

"Yeah, that was stupid, Theo." Jonathan added taking another swig of bourbon.

"See, even the caveman with his limited capacity for reasoning can see the error of your ways." Vincent was already refilling his glass. "And what's more..."

Theoricus cut across him mid sentence, "Peace brothers, our lady guest approaches."

"Hey, I don't know if it's alright but I borrowed one of your shirts." She came into the room wringing her hair out with a towel. "I hope there's some left for me."