Scenting Hallowed Blood by Storm Constantine
He nodded. ‘OK.’
‘Meet me tonight, at seven o’clock by the crossroads on the Hill Road. Will you remember that? I’ll pick you up in my car.’
Delmar nodded again, although Tamara could see he was slightly perplexed by her request. Normally, the Pelleth would only bring him to the sacred cave.
‘There’s something I need you to help me with. It’s very important, but you mustn’t tell anyone about it. Not even Agatha. Do you understand?’
Again, a sombre and uncertain nod.
Tamara ran her hand through his hair. ‘Don’t worry, Del. I’m not asking you to do anything bad. We’ll be helping Meggie and the others. It’s going to be a surprise for them. That’s why it’s a secret.’
His face brightened a little. ‘All right. Seven o’clock.’
Tamara spent a full hour preparing herself for the ritual to come. She bathed herself in salt water, and daubed her body with protective oil. In her bedroom, she picked up from her dressing table the talisman Barbelo had given her and ran her fingers over the worn, carved contours of the double snakes. At first, the lively vibrations emanating from the talisman were almost unbearable to her, but she forced herself to hold onto it. After a few minutes, the furious, writhing energy that crawled like electricity up her arms abated to nothing more than a slight tingling sensation in her fingers. Barbelo had told her that the talisman was incredibly ancient, and had been fashioned by a member of a priesthood known as the Magians, who had been exiled from ancient Persia. The rites that the Magians had developed to enable them to use the earth energy, or serpent power, was now called magic; the word itself derived from their name. The double snake was their symbol. They had called it the Shamir, and it represented the duality of the serpent power: black magic, white magic, good, evil, truth and lies. The potential for both existed within the reach of humanity’s will and life force. Tamara knew that Barbelo’s people had been utilising this natural life force for millennia, and now a great source of that force lay slumbering within the earth, ready to be reawakened. Tamara gazed at the talisman, wondering whether it would make magic for her. She breathed deeply and felt the stone in her hands respond, grow hot. She began to visualise a white light seeping out of it, which rose like a veil towards her face and around her body. She wanted to create a caul of invisibility around herself, so that she wouldn’t be observed about her work by those with the sight to see. The misty breath of the talisman enveloped her body and aura with its subtle vibration. She could feel its effect, almost as if her body had become lighter and insubstantial. It was almost too easy. How fortunate she was to have access to Grigori magic.
‘Now, great Shamir,’ she said aloud, using the Grigori name for the serpent power that Barbelo had taught her. ‘Tell me what I must do to chain a maiden.’
Images flowed into her mind. She saw her Hopi shaman, at the time when he had taught her how to create kachini spirits, which the Pelleth called thought-forms.
She saw the shaman’s dextrous fingers creating totems, winding coloured thread around tiny wooden stakes. Before him, on a mat upon the ground, lay a scattering of feathers and brightly-coloured beads. Once these were added to the totem, he would paint primitive features upon it. Then he would say to the girl, Tamara, ‘Now child, breathe upon it, give it life. It is easy for you. You are a woman, and women have the gift of creating life. Come on, now. Create me a spirit.’ And she had done as he’d instructed, yearning for the approval in his old eyes.
Snapped back to the present moment, Tamara thought, Yes, a totem, but of what?
The image of the tattooed eye upon Ishtahar’s belly flashed strongly within her mind. As she concentrated upon it, the eye gradually transformed into the shape of a large cowry shell, with the thunder of the sea roaring secretly within it. The cowry shell was an ancient symbol of the Watchers’ eyes. It was perfect.
Tamara lifted the talisman up before her face. ‘Shamir, I thank you for these images.’ She smiled. ‘And did you know that I happen to have just such a shell in my possession?’
Once she was ready to leave the cottage, Tamara summoned the flame of her inner strength to glow brightly within her, then, using the talisman, folded herself within the caul of invisibility, as she’d practised earlier.
The clear day had been eclipsed by a cold, rainy evening. Wind turned the lances of the rain to blades. Tamara dressed herself in a dark robe, over which she threw a heavy, winter coat with a hood. She did not want to use light or incense, which might attract attention, but put handfuls of certain herbs into a leather pouch. There was camomile, rosemary and agnus castus, which were the plants associated with the female form, love and gentle strength. Then, there was henbane and mandrake to create the dusky, sexual power required to attract her golden prince; blackberry for the dark sweetness of her essence; rowan to create the illusion of a seeress and finally black ash, the plant of the water serpent. These ingredients she secreted, along with the cowry shell, into the deep pocket of her coat.
Just before she was about to leave her cottage, the phone rang. Tamara stared at it for a moment, wondering whether to leave it ringing. Then she picked it up. Her flesh prickled with cold when she heard Meggie Penhaligon’s voice at the other end of the line, although she forced her voice to remain cheerful and friendly. Meggie had rung to arrange a meeting of the Conclave for the following evening. It had to be coincidence she had called at this time, although Tamara did not underestimate the older woman’s abilities, which was why she’d taken so many precautions in veiling her intentions.
Finally, she managed to end the conversation and dash out through the rain to her car. She would be a few minutes late for Delmar now, and hoped he hadn’t wandered off, thinking she wasn’t coming.
Her headlights picked him up at the cross-roads. He wasn’t wearing a coat and was already soaked to the skin, but then cold and wet never seemed to bother Delmar. Tamara leaned over and opened the passenger’s door. ‘Get in.’
Delmar slithered into the seat like something that had crawled up off the beach. He shook his hair and sprayed her with freezing droplets.
They drove along the coast road, following the curve of several coves. The road ran close to the cliff edge here, and occasionally, there were lay-bys where tourists could pause to take in the sights or eat picnics. Tamara swung her car onto one of these and turned off the engine. A few hundred yards up the road, the imposing bulk of High Crag was visible above the boundary walls of its grounds. Lights could be seen in many of the upper windows. It looked almost as if a party was going on. Tamara was fascinated by the house and its occupants. Did Barbelo live there? The woman had not deigned to reveal that information to her, but now Tamara wondered whether Barbelo was standing at one of the lit windows, her sharp sight focused upon them. Delmar stared at the house, as a rabbit, frozen in the road, might stare at the headlights of an approaching lorry. Tamara didn’t bother to comment on his obvious unease. If there were problems to come, she would deal with them when they occurred. She leaned across in front of the boy and removed a powerful torch from the glove compartment. ‘Come on, Del. Let’s get going.’
She managed to coax him out of the car, so she could lock its doors. The climb down to the beach would be tortuous, but she trusted that Seference would help them find a way. Delmar was sacrosanct: the elements and the land would not harm him until the time came when, with due ceremony, he would be given to them for eternity. The boy paused at the cliff edge, and Tamara could see he was shivering.
‘We must not go here,’ he said. ‘It is forbidden.’
Tamara shone her torch along the edge of the cliff. She knew there were a few narrow tracks that led down to the beach around here. ‘Don’t worry about it, Del. We’ll be safe. It’s important we do this.’ She took his arm, and reluctantly he allowed her to lead him.
Once negotiating the cliff, some of Delmar’s apprehension seemed to evaporate. He clambered down and across, leaping and scrambling, reaching back to assist Ta
Tamara could feel the power oozing from stones of the cove. The cliffs and the surrounding rocks were all of pure serpentine. In daylight, they would be red, gold and green, but at night, the stone appeared densely black. The rocks seemed to be full of giant faces, grimacing out upon the night. Delmar stood trembling upon the wind-lashed beach. The house was not visible from here for the cliff over-hung the shore. The black ovals of cave entrances could be seen; places where the Grigori undoubtedly conducted their own rituals at certain times of year. Tamara would have liked to explore these places, but knew that time was short. She must conduct her work and hurry away. Lingering too long might alert the Grigori to her presence.
She crouched down upon the sand and removed from her coat pocket the pouch of herbs. Hastily, she broke the contents into small pieces and placed them within the hollow of the cowry shell. Then, without hesitation, she picked up a sharp stone from the beach and made a shallow cut across her wrist. Delmar uttered a sound of distress at the sight of her blood. He was clearly unfamiliar with some of the more gruesome magical practices, and remained rigid and staring as Tamara squeezed a few drops of blood into the cowry shell. This accomplished, she spat onto the mixture, then finally added some sea-water gathered from a nearby rock-pool. Slowly, still crouching down, she began to agitate the mixture within the shell, making it move in a spiral. After a few moments, she leapt suddenly to her feet. Delmar whimpered and cringed away from her. Tamara ignored his fear. She held the shell before her, her spine erect, her hair blowing around her face from beneath her hood. ‘Now, Del! Send the image of Ishtahar to me!’
His jumpiness and fright were beginning to annoy her, although she could tell he was trying to overcome these feelings, so that he could concentrate on her request. His instinct now was to obey her.
‘We are safe now,’ she told him. ‘Just relax. No-one knows we’re here.’
He nodded, although he still looked terrified. Tamara closed her eyes. Soon, the image came through: the figure of a woman, clad in blue veils, which curled around her body like smoke. Her ears and neck were hung with heavy gold jewellery and her eyes were painted thickly with kohl in the Egyptian fashion. Tamara visualised this figure standing upon the beach directly in front of her. Then she opened her eyes and, holding the cowry shell aloft, poured the potent libation around them in a small, tight circle, all the while chanting in a guttural whisper: ‘Sitar, Ishtahar, Abdur Sitar, Ashur Sitar, Ishtahar.’ She spiralled lithely around the circle, each step executed with the purpose and precision of a trained dancer. Then, she halted in the centre of the circle and poured the residue of the libation onto the sand, breathing heavily. Gripping the shell in one hand, she held out the talisman in the other, and willed the carved serpents to release their breath, so that the form of Ishtahar could take shape within it. Within her grasp, the talisman began to grow hot. Fine, snaky fronds of smoking energy rose up from the serpents’ open mouths and slowly crept upon the air, until they found the serrated folds of the cowry shell and slipped within it.
Satisfied her intentions were taking effect, Tamara asked Delmar to dig a hole in the sand between them. She sat down opposite him, and watched his fingers scrabbling away, until he had dug down for about eighteen inches. Then she placed the shell in the hole, and together she and Delmar filled it in once more. There would be no outward sign that the shell was buried there. The tide would wash away all signs of their libation. If Tamara wanted to remove the shell, she would have to use psychic means to locate it. She reached for Delmar’s gritty hands, and instructed him to meditate further on the image of Shemyaza’s woman. Tamara was unnerved by the thought of closing her eyes for the meditation. Her heart had begun to beat quickly; she would not be sorry to leave this place.
A sudden gust of wind blew Tamara’s hood back from her head and sprayed her hair across her face in stinging tendrils. She heard the howl and roar of the sea grow momentarily furious and wild, and could not help opening her eyes quickly, convinced that an enormous wave was about to crash down upon her. But the sea was merely restless and seething, its waves lashing fretfully at least twenty yards from where they sat.
‘Come Del, we must leave.’ She was on her feet in an instant, the flesh along her spine crawling in apprehension. The knowledge that she would have to empower the thought-form of Ishtahar a few more times yet did not please her. It wouldn’t be so bad if they could work by daylight, but the risks attached to that were too great.
On the climb back up the cliff, Tamara felt the guardians’ presence around them. Their clawed, spectral fingers reached for her coat as she struggled and scrabbled on the treacherous path. Delmar uttered a monotonous keening sound, and by the time they crawled back onto the concrete surface of the lay-by, he was twitching and gibbering like a lunatic. Tamara had never seen a person so afraid. Now that the deed was done, she herself felt light-headed and disorientated with shock and fear. They had dared to invade Grigori territory! Her unease was blended with a sense of triumph. With shaking fingers, she unlocked the car and bundled Delmar into the passenger seat. She dared not look back over her shoulder as she threw herself in through the driver’s door. Her car skidded on the tarmac as she turned it back onto the Hill Road. Delmar had put his face in his hands. When the lights of the village were visible below them, Tamara reached out and pressed her cold fingers on the back of the boy’s neck.
‘Hush,’ she soothed. ‘It’s over.
For now.
Chapter Seven
Dream Talking
On the day following her initial meeting with Daniel, Aninka arrived at the cafe near Red Lion Square very early, around six-thirty in the morning, convinced the boy would call in again. She sat there all the way through until nine, earning suspicious looks from the waitress. Perhaps her tension was evident in her posture. Had she frightened Daniel off the previous morning? She couldn’t remember saying anything too pushy or interrogative, but the boy was psychic, after all. Perhaps he’d guessed who and what she was, and Shemyaza and the others had already fled the Assembly Rooms.
Standing at the threshold of the cafe, Aninka considered walking boldly up to the main entrance of the Assembly Rooms, and simply knocking on the door. Shemyaza knew her, she had been his lover. Would he attack her now? It was impossible to guess his state of mind. She kept reminding herself that Peverel Othman was no more. What lived in his body now was alien and ancient, and perhaps would not even recognise her.
Back at the flat, she confided her fears to Taziel. ‘Have we missed our chance?’
He scoffed at her question. ‘I wouldn’t put it that way. If Shemyaza has fled London, it’s a narrow escape for us, if anything.’
‘Can you tell if he’s still around?’ Aninka sprawled on the sofa and lit a cigarette.
Taziel shrugged. ‘I think so. I don’t think Daniel guessed who you were, otherwise I’m sure there would have been more...’ He grinned. ‘...impact.’
‘What do you mean?’ Aninka asked stiffly.
‘The Anakim would have had us,’ he answered shortly, then grimaced. ‘Perhaps a gentle prod or two won’t go amiss. I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Gentle prod?’ Aninka sounded unsure.
‘Perhaps your friend Daniel needs to be reminded it’s a good idea to get out of the house now and again.’