> “Why did I not name myself the heir? Too many questions and no good answers. So Rita spent the last decade of her life, in addition to her political machinations, finding suitable stewards for her legacy. These, other than the Foundations, are the only memories she did not commit to writing, and so, they remain in my head.”
Central Park, for all its magnificence during the day, was scary as hell in the night. The great green lawns were empty, as were the jogging trails and the cyclist paths, and the only light in my vicinity came from intermittently spaced street lamps, which, to add another level of terror, flickered randomly whenever I approached.
I reached the top of Bethesda Terrace at 10:43, the full moon illuminating the murky waters of the popular row-boating pond below. The figurehead of the eponymous fountain looked up at me with its stone gaze. It was supposed to depict the Angel of the Waters, but in the ominous glow of the moonlight, I could have sworn that instead it was an alerion, the sigil of the Worshipful Company of Alchemists, otherwise known as the Guild.
I walked gingerly down the steps, Jade’s familiar weight pushing slightly against my actual body, and then turned and strode toward the tunnel that ran under the terrace. Decorative columned archways lined the entrance and extended down into the darkness, but of the Guild escort that should have been waiting for me, there was no sign.
“Hello?” I called out once I had reached the interior of the passageway. “Is anyone there?”
Jade’s voice echoed down the terrace underbelly, but the only response was silence.
I threw back my head in frustration, fighting against the urge to unleash every ounce of fury that had been building up inside me these past few weeks. What was left of my resolve gave way after three seconds and I screamed.
When I opened my eyes again, four hooded and cloaked figures were standing under the archways, two in front of me, one to my left, and one to my right. They approached slowly, and I swiveled in a circle, looking for a familiar face. But the moon’s reflection off the pond was suddenly blinding and the only thing I could make out were the identical gold clasps that held the cloaks in place. Finally, the figures stopped three paces away and unhooded themselves.
One was Gilbert and one was Emma, which was slightly reassuring, but the other two were total strangers.
“Jade Peters,” said one of them, a man with silver hair and a silver goatee and a silver cane that had somehow appeared from inside the sleeve of his robe.
“That’s me,” I said.
“Present your token,” he replied with a distinctive Texas drawl.
I fished my locket out from underneath my jacket and unclasped it. Inside was the gold token that was my entry ticket into the Guild. I held it out for the silver-haired man to see and he stepped forward to grab it from my hand, but I snatched it back from his grasp.
“That’s not how this works,” I said. “My token stays with me. You already know it’s real.”
I turned to look at Gilbert, who nodded in assent.
“Fine,” said the man. “Lucca, the blindfold.”
The fourth and final figure, a 30-something woman with glasses and short purple hair, produced a black silk scarf from underneath her robe and handed it to the man, who stretched it out in front of him with both hands, letting his cane fall to the ground.
“Is this really necessary?” I said.
“I’m afraid it is, Ms. Peters,” said the man. “Don’t worry, though, you’ll get your eyes back just as soon as we reach the Guild hall.”
“I’m sorry, what? What do you mea-”
The man closed the gap between us in a flash and pushed the blindfold against my eyes, which I closed involuntarily. I felt Jade buckle under the stress of whatever alchemy was contained within the scarf, as if her entire body was about to crack into a million pieces. But thankfully, the man pulled back the blindfold after only a few seconds.
Except that when I opened my eyes again, the only thing I saw was nothing.
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They placed a cloak around me, and I did not protest. They pulled the hood up over Jade’s fiery hair, secured it with what I imagined was a matching gold clasp, and I did not fight them as my arms went limp at their sides. They muttered words of an ancient language in unison, and the cloak constricted my limbs. I began to walk, but not of my own accord.
The blackness that permeated my field of vision was absolute, and the sheer terror of it had drained all the fight out of me. Even Jade had not been moved by my plight to intervene. Whether that was because I was not truly in danger, or the blindfold had somehow dampened whatever she was, I wasn’t sure, but I held onto this glimmer of hope like a drowning woman clutching a sinking life preserver.
We walked in silence up the sloping path along the pond that led away from the Terrace and then up another hill that I knew led toward the Met. Finally, the quiet of the park was broken by the familiar sounds of city traffic, and I surmised we were close to the Engineer’s Gate on 90th Street. I felt the ground shift as we moved onto the cobblestone sidewalk that lined the west side of Fifth Avenue. Then my body was directed across the street, down the sidewalk, and then across another street, until we resumed our northward trek on Madison Avenue.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
What a sight we must have been, five robed figures skulking around in the night. But then I wondered if anyone could see us at all. We would be hard to miss otherwise, even at this time of night. Surely the doormen of the tony Upper East Side buildings we were passing would not keep quiet about such a bizarre tableau, even by New York standards.
I wanted to say something, to curse these men and women for their treachery, but found the muscles in my throat and my jaw unable to hear my brain’s commands. So I gave in and tried to enjoy the only sense left under my control. I should have heard the hum of the air conditioners above my head, the gentle honking of horns, and the screech of tires. But the streets were eerily and unnaturally quiet, and I resigned myself to being trapped in this cocoon until either I was welcomed into the Guild or stabbed in the back and pushed into the sewer.
I lost track of how far my body had walked and wouldn’t have been surprised to find myself in the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge by the time this was finished. At some point, I felt myself sit down in a comfy chair and the hood was removed from over my head. As soon as it was, my limbs suddenly fell to their sides as if the invisible puppet strings had been cut. Then the blindfold was pressed back against my face and quickly removed. I took a few deep breaths, unsure if I even wanted to return to the brightness of the world. But finally, I heard someone clear their throat, and when my eyes fluttered open again, they were all staring at me from around a big wooden table.
The man with the silver facial hair, who was now sporting a cowboy hat of all things, sat several chairs away to my left and the blonde-haired woman named Lucie, two seats to my left. Emma had taken up a seat opposite the man, and Gilbert was in the middle seat across from me. Along with a familiar woman.
“Welcome, Jade Peters,” said Dalia de Wyck, 13th Chairman of the Guild, dressed in an elegant black dress with the familiar black stitching, a hint of a smile on her face. “Let us begin, shall we?”
Gilbert picked up a piece of paper and began reading.
“Roll call. J.P. Laurel, First Seat of the Orange Table?”
“Here,” he said.
Gilbert made a notation on the paper and then continued.
“Lucca Josephie, Second Seat of the Breuckelen Table?”
“Yep,” said the woman.
“Emma Patel, Second Seat of the Pavonia Table?”
Emma nodded.
“I need a verbal confirmation,” said Gilbert sternly.
“Present,” said Emma, rolling her eyes.
“Dalia de Wyck, First Seat of the New Amsterdam Table?”
“Present,” said Dalia.
“That leaves me, Gilbert Barbata, Second Seat of the New Amsterdam Table, also present. And as we have two first seats present, we have a quorum, so this 432th meeting of the Worshipful Company of Alchemists shall come to order.”
He banged a gavel that had somehow appeared in his hand against the table and then sat down.
All this talk of tables and seats made me reexamine the wooden table we were sitting at. It wasn’t one table, as I had originally thought, but four that were connected with some sort of gold inlay. The table’s outlines were also different. The New Amsterdam Table looked almost like the island of Manhattan, but the others were indistinguishable shapes.
Behind each table were three seats, with everyone sitting in the specific Seat that Gilbert had called. Which meant that I was slated to be the Third Seat of the so-called Breuckelen Table.
I took a minute to survey the rest of the room. On the wall to my left were several banners sporting symbols I did not recognize. And on the opposite wall was a series of four gleaming metal shields, each with a different crest. Wooden chests were haphazardly pushed against other nooks in the room, and several half-burned candles provided a dim glow.
“Do I hear a motion to dispense with the reading of the minutes from the prior meeting?” asked Gilbert.
“I move,” said Emma.
“Seconded,” said J.P.
“All those in favor?” asked Gilbert.
“Aye,” said everyone but me.
“Nay?” I said with apprehension.
Gilbert frowned.
“Jade, seeing as how you are not, at this moment, a member of the Guild, you do not get a vote. But you may read the minutes to your heart’s content later this evening if you should so choose.”
“Oh,” I said, my face turning red. “OK.”
“Good,” said Gilbert. “With that settled, let us turn to the two matters of new business on tap for tonight’s meeting. First, we have a new member to initiate.”
All eyes suddenly turned to me and I felt as if they were piercing through the glamour and staring at the real me, an interloper hiding within another interloper.
“Jade Peters,” said Gilbert. “The Membership Committee,” he gestured to the assembled Guild members at the three tables, “has considered your membership request. As you know, membership in the Worshipful Company of Alchemists is not something given lightly. We are honor-bound to uphold the charter given to the Founding Twelve. To guard, shield, and cultivate the Secret of Secrets: the ancient art of alchemy. Only those of sound mind, body, and essence are worthy to be inducted into the Guild, an appointment that is not only for your lifetime, but for your heir as well and their heir, and so on.”
“Can we get on with this?” interjected Emma, who had used the length of Gilbert’s speech to remove her robe, revealing a faux leopard bomber jacket and figure-hugging black blouse underneath. Evidently, she had plans later tonight that were about as far as you could get from a meeting of a secret magical society.
Everyone ignored the outburst, except Gilbert, who tilted his head slightly in Emma’s direction as if she was an annoying fly that would not stop buzzing in his ear.
“Second Seat Patel, it seems as if I’m keeping you from something more important? Another night of downing tequila at some God-forsaken basement bordello, maybe? Or do you have a gentleman caller that we should know about? Well, whichever it is, you may want to put those plans on hold until after we get to the second item of business.”
Emma glared daggers at him before slinking down in her chair and putting her robe back on.
“Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Jade. You have proven yourself worthy of the three elements.”
I tried to piece together which of my trials and tribulations had corresponded to each of the so-called elements, but Gilbert continued his long speech.
“And as Committee chair, I now pass along the Committee’s recommendation to the Chairman that you be elevated to full Guild member.”
Gilbert produced a piece of paper from his robe and handed it to Dalia.
She considered it, her eyes scanning up and down the page, and I couldn’t help but wonder what they had written about me. Finally, she placed the paper down on the table.
“Thank you, Gilbert, but I’m afraid I will have to reject the Committee’s recommendation.”