The large dark oak door stood menacing over the side of the busy street facing away from the complex. The large heavy scrollwork was designed in the fashion of a Pythagorean geo-ward. The series of complex angles and magically infused inlays of the various holy shapes of antiquity glowing with a light hum. He could only imagine the cost of such a door. He knew it would be at least ten times what the repair cost of his door in the office that the brute Melrose broke upon entry. Kathlan also noted he did in fact refer to his workplace as an “Office”. He briefly considered Hudsley’s suggestion for a moment before deciding he didn’t like the sound of admitting the warlock was right.
The large cathedral was the epicenter of a scandal in the mid 80’s during the Satanic scare. A group of teenagers had broken into the church and preformed a rite of corruption inside. The resulting carnage of the class two manifestation made the headlines the next day. Evidently the demon in question was restrained on the grounds by a group of warlocks, no doubt on orders from a jealous rival. Regardless, the church was so tainted by the manifestation’s presence that even the papal knights couldn’t cleanse it. Now it stood slightly decayed in the heat of New York, gifted to the warlocks as a sign of peace and ensured future cooperation.
“Rich fucks and their fancy doors.” An older man said, suddenly standing beside Kathlan. The man was wrinkled like a pug without the adorable visual of obvious inbreeding. The man looked at the door, raised his middle finger to it, smiled at his rebellious gesture, and carried on down the street. New York was the strangest place Kathlan had ever experienced, no wonder he and the rest of the occult world fit in so well here.
The door glowed a yellow orange color as Kathlan approached from the short flight of stairs. A matching yellow glow came from his right interior coat pocket, presumably the ring Hudsley gave him the day before in his office. Though the newly powerless most powerful warlock in New York couldn’t add much beyond his initial shocking statement. The yellow glows, both in his pocket and upon the door, turned a sapphire blue before opening inward into the building. The interior of the warlock association’s New York chapter house was an eclectic mix of postmodern gothic and 2nd century Sumerian revivalism.
The energy shifted as he walked past the door, a clear sign he had passed through a dimension barrier. The theory was that if you conceptualized the threshold and empowered it with magic, two separate spaces could be accessed from it. The theory eventually came up in the scientific realm which soon saw it referred to cleverly and aptly as non-Euclidian physics. To most, the effect would go unnoticed. Kathlan was certainly not most.
There in the small silver crack between realities that hid the true interior of the space, was a black and red spray of blood. Kathlan tried his best but failed to avoid the direct gaze of the quivering, crying eye in the corpse’s socket. As suddenly as the eye blinked, he was staring into the cleavage of a marble statue. His eyes glanced down, the plaque reading “Nintur in martyr-stained marble 2974 BCE” The guard next to the statue cleared her throat.
He glanced up into the guards’ eyes; an attractive honey color hid the red and green flame in her soul just behind. He turned past her and continued into the gaudy foyer. He wasn’t told quite what to do when he arrived, luckily the brightly colored imp that flew hurriedly his direction seemed to understand much better. The creature circled Kathlan’s head twice before landing upon his shoulder.
“The lieutenant commander has asked for you to follow me to your destination.” The whispered voice in his mind came expectedly.
“Lead on.” He replied dryly.
The interior space that comprised the warlock association chapter house was easily four blocks bigger than the building itself would normally allow for. In the twenty minutes Kathlan had followed the imp, the style had shifted a number of times to reflect the area of research which it focused on. The area the pair stopped in was decorated in a 12th century venetian style. The doorways in the hallway were set between thin grail shaped pillars, each with a high arch and circular stained-glass window that sat high above the threshold. The door Kathlan found himself in front of had a blue-eyed owl depicted in its stained glass, underneath in Sumerian cuneiform and noble abyssal was the full title of William Hudsley.
The redwood door opened on its own as the imp led him into the room. The interior was far gaudier than the hallway they had entered from. Kathlan considered that while the venetian expense of high-quality craftsman could certainly be considered gaudy for the ancient world; the velvet purples, gold, and gem encrusted décor of the lieutenant commander’s personal study would be considered obscene even among the Minoan courts. Hudsley sat behind his ashen wood desk, the only shadow Kathlan could find in the entire room. He seemed to be pouring over notes, many of which ended up crumpled and half-hazardly thrown on the floor. The previously pressed and proper uniform of the man had been wrinkled with the stress of the night.
His black and red suit jacket was unceremoniously tossed over the antique solarium next to his desk. Kathlan saw the trademark tribbly precariously close to the edge of the licking brazier in the corner by the half wall window. Will had his head balanced on his open palm, reading feverously from his hand. His finger rubbed at the chasm of hair that fluffed from the side of his, unbelievably, grayer hair.
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“His High Priest, William Hudsley, Grandmaster of Mephistopheles Disciples, Second lieutenant of the New York Warlock Association, and Ambassador to the Capital of the Dreamlands.” The Imp screeched as he flew to the desk. The creature turned back to the mage, with a disgusted look, “The bastard known as Kathlan.” The imp finished his introductions and flew hurriedly from the room. Quicker than an incantation, he noted. Kathlan pushed the unpunished insult from his head and turned back to the sight of the frazzled warlock.
“Rough night Hudsley?” Kathlan questioned sincerely, surprising even himself at the consideration.
The man began to form an insult but was caught off guard as well. He straightened himself from his desk, tucking in the unmanaged hair on his head.
“It was.” He said with a sigh. “I appreciate you understanding the depth of these troubles.” The warlock took his first honest breath in what Kathlan figured was the entirety of the time since he closed the door of his office. He frowned, remembering the door falling to the ground after him.
“I suppose there hasn’t been much progress in your allies’ investigations.” Kathlan said plainly, though he was speaking noticeably softer than you he usually spoke with the man.
“I regret to say that would be the case. The hunter’s guild is on the trail of a few shades who may have information; however, they have remained uncharacteristically elusive.” He stood from his high-backed chair and walked over to the mantle of the unlit fireplace. From a black crystal decanter he poured a honey brown liquid into a glass. He lifted a second empty glass in Kathlan’s direction, to which he gave a nod back. He returned to his seat and placed the second glass on the edge of the desk. Kathlan took the drink and raised it toward the solemn man.
“In the memory of your master.” He honored. Lieutenant Hudsley returned the toast with a smile. The liquid was a honey wine, the taste of lychee and lemon fluttered between the sweetness of the honey. The sudden bite of ginger at the back of Kathlan’s throat caused him to cough slightly.
The warlock laughed, “I should have warned you, it’s a special blend from a small village in the Okinawa prefecture.” He finished his drink in a second gulp and stared at the now empty glass. A great volume of ideas and emotions crossed the man’s eyes. Most notably was the expression of reluctant acceptance.
Kathlan placed his glass on the desk without taking a second drink and walked casually over to the brazier next to the window. The large, rounded window gave the lieutenant a perfect view of the front entry to the headquarters on the street below. He placed his hand around the edge of the frame, searching for the distinct hum of a scrying spell. Much to his surprise, he found the window indeed was original to the exterior. A quick glance over his shoulder into the mist of the energy around him solidified his suspension.
While the interior hall was much larger than the cathedral itself, this portion of headquarters actually sat within the reality of the cathedral itself. All the walls hummed with the energy of magic, but the floor and ceiling did not. Kathlan suspected that you could theoretically break into this office from the window, however the warding within the room no doubt accommodated for such minds as his. He glanced back into the window, then down at the brazier to his left. The white feather that stuck from the band of the hat had turned a brownish hue as the flames occasionally licked at its edges.
He collected the hat, brushing it as clean as he could, before turning back the warlock, who still wore the same expression on his face. The offered tribbly broke the man from his trance.
“Ah, yes. I suppose it would be a shame to lose such a thing. You know it was handmade...”
“By George du Maurier himself. He only made five, you own three.” Kathlan finished, turning his eye to the man. “You had the others burned.”
“Sanitized.” Hudsley corrected, “The men defiled the respect of the Tribbly.” He smiled, no doubt remembering the incident fondly. His gleeful eyes gradually drew to a large manila folder on the guest side of his desk. Kathlan took the cue and walked back toward his drink, taking another sip before he took the dossier. As he thumbed through the familiar forms of the magical bureaucracy, something became very clear.
“Where is the autopsy?” Kathlan questioned, raising his eyes from the papers at the knowingly disgruntled warlock.
“The Divine sanctum has so far declined to report on their findings. They also have sequestered anyone with firsthand knowledge of the discovery.” Lieutenant Hudsley looked deep into Kathlan’s eyes. “I suspect that the evidence present was not encouraging.”
Meaning either the evidence was suspiciously pointed at a too convenient culprit or there simply was no evidence present. He was leaning towards the latter option as there were few who the divine sanctum would protect from their laws. Short of themselves, Kathlan couldn’t see any reason to allow the news of a greater demon’s death to become public.
“How long do they think they can hide the truth?”
“I’m certain their convinced it’s long enough.” The warlock said as he smirked and pushed himself from his seat. He carefully placed the hat on its stand next to the fireplace, the flame inside turning an azure blue in response before returning to normal. He turned towards Kathlan and gave a cautious nod. “I do believe that concludes the questions I had for you Revenant.”
Kathlan was caught off guard by the sudden shift of attitude until he felt the tingle of magical eyes upon him. He quickly tucked the folder into his inner jacket fold. He felt the sudden emptiness in his hand before reaching for his glass and downing the remainder of his next liquor purchase.
“I do apologize for my lack of help. But I suppose I’d be more inclined to help if I wasn’t always your first suspect.” Kathlan retorted, a sarcastic venom in his tone, before passing the Lieutenant towards the door. The man’s eyes screamed at him, a desperate plea for help, hidden behind a scowl. He supposed he couldn’t fault the man for not asking nicely.
A second, by far uglier imp, flew into Kathlan’s face as he grabbed the door handle. He felt the lock disengage as the imp tapped the door. The sensible hallway décor greeted him in the same orientation he arrived in. His eyes relaxed as he crossed the threshold out of the brightly lit study.
“I wish for both our sakes; it had been that easy.”