Earth, Sun, and Moon Saga Ch. 12

Hey, ya'll! Dakota here, back with another episode of Fucking Around with Ancient Deities! Good to see you!

If you're a new reader, welcome! This chapter is essentially the middle of a novel, so don't be surprised if you start reading this and have no idea what's going on. But maybe you like that shit, so who am I to judge?

Returning reader? Great to have you back! We're one step closer to the end of this whole delightful mess but, fear not, we still have a ways to go. Please like, comment, and fav as it helps others find this weirdo story where mere mortals get toyed with by the supernatural (and maybe do a bit of toying of their own).

So here we go:

Dear Journal of Despair,

So a lot has happened in the last six hours. I'm currently typing this on my phone while laying low in a Starbucks--so fucking sue me, it was the only place open, and besides, I needed a goddamn macchiato. After getting brain-tossed off a boat by a fucking god, a girl can buy herself a corporate cup of coffee.

Because I'm writing this instead of scream-crying at strangers about said god, I figure I can at least organize my thoughts a little.

Things I have learned in the past six hours, in no particular order:

1. I am a squishy bag of meat to the divine beings I currently share the city with.
2. I am head over heels, butt-naked in lust with a vampyress and her sexy dom boyfriend.
3. Said vampyress and boyfriend are currently MIA.
4. The gods (and that weird old guy) probably kidnapped the vampyress and killed the boyfriend. The mermaid (or selkie, I guess?) is also missing.
5. I am currently in possession of seven bottles of silver nitrate and two green canisters of camping fuel. I have no idea what to do with them.
6. My emotional state has swung from abject fear to whatever is beyond complete and total fury.

I should back up.

So there I am, dear Journal, invited aboard a freaking yacht with a thousand-year-old Celtic vampyress and her squad of nerdowells. She's, like, a total baddie and I'm utterly powerless under her icy bad bitch gaze. And, get this, she's besties with a literal mermaid.

Her name is Asari but everyone calls her Ash for some reason and she's basically a perky blonde hardbody that can eat her weight in noodles. Normally, someone like that would royally piss me off but I sort of love her. She's genuine in a way very few humans are.

And that brings me to James. Swoon.

I thought I had experience with dominant guys but, I have to admit, none of them hold a candle to this man. He's got to be one of the most effortlessly masculine dudes I've ever met. He's probably a Republican because I have an overwhelming desire to make him a sandwich. Usually, guys that insist they're dom are just cosplaying. He didn't even know the term. He just is.

How he fell into this whole mess is still a mystery to me but it's clear he's a fucking boss. Like, on the boat, when we got surrounded by the bad guys, he drew a six-shooter on them like he was a wild west desperado. Cold. As. Ice.

I really hope he's not dead.

I'm pretty sure I got Jedi-thrown by Anubis which, I gotta say, is a little like being hip-checked by a rock star. I'm not even mad about it. I landed on the canvas top of a boat two spots over, bouncing off of it like a damn trampoline. By the time I figured out what happened, James was gone and Liz Luna/Lenore was in her smoky myst form or whatever and was being sucked into a jar by that creepy old guy.

It would be just my luck that the moment I find my unicorn couple, they get ripped away from me like lawn chairs in the trailer park tornado that is my life.

Now, they told me that the first time they fought these gods, they were using dead vampyres to resurrect some ancient priestess who herself was the goddess Bastet. Or her tether. Whatever, I don't understand all the details.

I can only assume that's what they're doing now. They're trying to finish what they started.

It's up to me to stop them.

I just don't know how.

All blues, no clues,

Angelica

***

James stared at his reflection.

The words glowed on his upper chest like some sort of neon gang affiliation. They weren't seared into his skin, even though they burned. It wasn't like a tattoo or a branding. It was almost like they'd appeared from under his skin, the blue glow of the letters shining through the top layer of his epidermis.

Unbind the ankh, they read.

The implications of those three words were a lot to consider and James became so lost in thought that he tuned out the burning sensation.

Clearly, this was a message from Gwen. Had she been the one that dropped him through the portal, transporting him back to the island? She must have. And how could she have put such a message on him in just an instant? She hadn't even touched him.

Unless...

A crazy idea occurred to him. One that, if true, gave frightening implications for the extent of Gwen's powers. In the garden, after his first night at the house, they'd had a bit of a tryst. They'd had what she'd called a palaver and had drawn symbols on his chest in vibrant blue paint. Had she drawn this message then? If so, it meant a level of premonition that was downright terrifying to contemplate.

Then he had to consider the purpose of the message even if the content was more obvious. The ankh had been a primary clue in Gwen's story about Anubis almost a hundred and thirty years earlier. A golden ankh necklace ended up being the tether for Anubis' assistant at that time, the goddess Ammit. Gwen had bound her to the necklace, somehow, defeating and banishing her to places unknown.

He patted his pockets for his phone automatically, before remembering it was ruined by his prolonged underwater expedition from earlier in the day. He wanted to look up this Ammit goddess and see if he could find any further information on her.

Could he assume that unbinding the ankh meant releasing the goddess? But why would Gwen want that?

He stumbled out of the bathroom, grabbing the shirt he'd pulled off just seconds earlier.

From Gwen's earlier story about the goddess, Ammit didn't strike James as particularly friendly. She was supposedly a terrifying amalgamation of a crocodile, hippopotamus, and lioness and had assisted Anubis in murdering a whole coven of vampires.

The purpose then. There were two possibilities as far as he could tell. One, Gwen wanted him to summon Ammit to rescue her and Lenore from the clutches of the others. Or two, it was a trick and she wanted him to bring Ammit forth to further help Anubis fulfill his mission.

The question was then whether he could trust her.

It had taken James several minutes to calm himself so that his rational thought could return. He was furious with the druidess. Hurt at her betrayal. She'd stood by and allowed a couple of gods to kidnap Ash, tying her up and then hiding, waiting to get to Lenore.

But, when it came to him, she'd sent him back here.

She'd probably saved his life in doing so.

She didn't appear to be under duress, but then, just because she wasn't in chains didn't mean she wasn't still a prisoner.

His mind turned to Anubis. With a flick of his hand he'd thrown Angelica fifty feet, possibly killing her. That was different. It implied he'd grown more powerful. Did Gwen have something to do with that?

If Gwen was still a hostage, it meant there were three very powerful beings to contend with, two of them literal gods. That Edward character was still a bit of a mystery to him. Gwen told him he'd been killed back in London but he seemed very not dead to James. Living an extra century was certainly keeping in trend with the rest of the group so he had to assume Edward was a pretty powerful adversary as well.

Unbind the ankh.

James groaned.

So fucking be it.

The house was eerie in how quiet it was. Evidence of his fight with Anubis and Qebhet was strewn between the front entryway and the destroyed kitchen. He was a good shot, so there were minimal bullet holes in the walls but the crushed silver-coated slugs lay scattered all over the floor like shiny pebbles, shed no doubt from divine flesh.

He retrieved his Glock from the floor, checked the magazine (three rounds left), and put it with his discarded duffle bag of supplies.

Then he went into Ash's room. During their escape, he'd abandoned his rifle in her pool while trying not to drown. He could see it at the bottom of the salt-water pool.

He shed his clothes and dove in, appreciating the cool water as he swam down. He retrieved the rifle and climbed out again. A little time in water wouldn't hurt the Door Kicker but he made a mental note to thoroughly clean it when he had the chance.

He toweled off, dressed again, and put the carbine with his bag. He took a quick inventory of his weapons. He now had all three guns again but was low on the silver-plated ammo. He had three rounds left for the pistol, five for the revolver, and a single full thirty-round magazine for the rifle. He still had the plated combat knife but, all-in-all, it was a pretty pathetic armory for fighting multiple gods.

He also found several bundles of his climbing rope. That was odd, James didn't remember packing them. He thought about his night with Lenore when they used the rope. She must have slipped them into his bag when he wasn't looking. The thought made him smile.

Lenore.

There was still a possibility that she got away. But James thought it was pretty slim. He might be her only hope now. The only thing working for him was that she would probably be kept alive until the ritual could be performed.

He grabbed the holster for the revolver so he could wear it more comfortably on his person and threw the jacket back on. He slung the Door Kicker over his shoulder, then he made his way back to the cave behind the house.

Everything was how he'd left after falling gracelessly through a portal twenty minutes earlier. He went to the altar and picked up the necklace from the circle of salt.

It was surprisingly heavy and the ankh was larger than the gold pendants he usually saw. He reminded himself it was handmade and likely pure, solid gold. The craftsmanship was still incredible as there didn't appear to be a single imperfection he could see.

"Okay," he said to the ankh. "Now, how the fuck do I unbind you?"

***

"Where is he?" Qebhet screamed, still holding her face. "I'll kill him! Where did you send him?"

"Away," Gwen replied. "Far away. He will no longer be a problem. He doesn't need to be a part of this."

Edward looked at her but didn't say anything. He tucked the jar containing Lenore in her mist form away.

"Where. Is. He?" she insisted. Qebhet's face was a shredded mess and she was having trouble healing. The silver shot from point-blank range was, on closer inspection, a collection of wicked C-shaped links likely from jewelry of some sort. Her body was having trouble rejecting them.

"It is no matter," Anubis said, "We have the dead one. It is time for us to leave."

"Father," Qebhet said, "Look at what he did to me!"

"I have experienced the same," Anubis explained. "Twice, I might add. But do you see me losing focus on what's important? So he shot you? Get over it. We're--what's the phrase--playing the long game."

Qebhet scoffed, clearly not happy but staying silent. She pulled another shard of silver from her cheek.

The four of them returned to the warehouse where preparations were being made to leave.

Edward and Qebhet had been using the traveling museum collection as cover for their true work for years by this time. It afforded them access to cities across the world and their collections, small and large, of ancient artifacts. It was under this pretense that they'd been able to locate another tether for Anubis and bring him forth, although he didn't say what the tether actually was.

Morning had just arrived and workers began trickling into the warehouse to begin preparing the trucks to transport the collection to the next city on the tour. The collection wouldn't technically leave Seattle for another week but Gwen was surprised to learn how much work that still entailed.

Anubis, looking remarkably uncomfortable in his human form, stalked through the warehouse, giving orders to various workers, while Qebhet ducked into one of the offices to lick her wounds.

A woman, guiding a rolling suitcase with one hand and holding a tray of coffees in the other, approached Edward.

"As you asked, sir," she said, placing the suitcase in front of them. She regarded Gwen with a polite smile and handed her one of the coffee cups. "Black tea. Milk. One sugar."

It was just how she liked it.

"Thank you," she said, curling her hands around the warm cup.

She handed Edward the other cup and left with a curt nod, presumably to deliver the last two cups to Anubis and Qebhet.

"I hope you don't mind but I took the liberty of having a bag packed for you," Edward said, motioning to the rolling suitcase. "I still remember your sizes."

"And how I take my tea, apparently."

"Yes, well, you're pretty unforgettable," Edward said with a boyish blush. "The one thing the British did right was bring us tea. Remember saying that?"

"I do. And it's still true."

She sipped her tea, studying him, looking for the young apprentice under the surface of the man who had assistants he could order to go shopping on her behalf.

"What's next?" she asked him.

"We return to London," he said simply. "To where this began."

"That's where the mummy is, isn't it?"

Edward nodded. "It was... necessary for her to remain there."

"Why is that?"

"You'll see." Edward took a sip from his own cup. "We're moving out in a few hours."

Tipped a nod and left to tie up whatever loose ends men in his position had. Gwen sipped her tea again, then wheeled the suitcase into the side office where she'd originally been held.

The suitcase contained clothing that was suspiciously her style; long, practical dresses, tasteful skirts, and warm sweaters. Lenore had once referred to her style as "cottagecore" and said it was popular with some of the hippie types these days but Gwen hadn't changed her style much since the Industrial Revolution. There was also a pair of leather boots and a package of warm socks. Considering that she'd been barefoot since Anubis had kidnapped her, this was a blessing.

Though she would have preferred to shower first, Gwen settled for changing into a set of fresh clothes. She chose one of the tartan skirts and a green sweater, being careful to pull her traveling apothecary from her old outfit. Though the skirt had pockets, they weren't enough to hold everything, so she made do with a few key ingredients and shoved the rest in the toiletry kit.

She sighed, thinking about Lenore and the situation she found herself in.

She was out of practice with her abilities, the return of Edward made that clear. His trick with capturing Lenore was a novel one and, though she'd only caught a glimpse of the jar she was now imprisoned in, it was clear it was protected by a strong ward.

Using magic was like exercising a muscle and Gwen felt very much like the retired Olympian watching the next generation smash through her old records. Living in America, during this age of peace, had made her soft.

But that would change. She was, above all else, adaptable. She was a survivor.

She'd survived the Romans. She'd survived the invasions of Saxons and then the Norse. She'd survived both the Catholics and the damnable Church of England. She'd survived battles, sieges, plagues, and inquisitions. She'd survive this too.

Now dressed, she zipped up the suitcase.

She set it on the small office desk and sat primly on the old chair.

Concentrating, she levitated the suitcase off the desk, only by a few inches, and held it still.

Contrary, to popular myths about her kind, Gwen did not know the future. But she knew enough to have a good idea about what was coming around the bend.

Slowly, she rotated the suitcase clockwise, keeping the motion smooth and constant. Then she rotated it counter-clockwise.

Whatever was coming, she'd be ready.

***

James had never been inside of a witch's apothecary and had no context with what he was seeing.

It looked like a meth lab for nature magic. Or if a botanist moon-lit as a deranged bombmaker.

Leather-bound journals lined a double shelf above a long counter like cookbooks. Ingredients that could only be described as "diverse" were stored in various bins, cubbies, and shelves. Her workspace was as clean as any lab James had ever been in but that was a bit like saying the kitchen of a cannibal was free of grease.

He didn't know exactly what he was looking for and he resisted the urge to simply start rifling through everything.

He pulled a random journal off the shelf, looked at the title--it was in Latin--and reshelved it.

"Okay," he said out loud. "If I were the instruction manual for resurrecting an ancient Egyptian murder goddess, where would I hide?"

He pulled out another book, saw that it had what appeared to be human teeth and a closed eye embedded on the chaotically stitched leather cover, and promptly put it back. James might have been new to this stuff but he wasn't an idiot.

Methodically, he took down a book, inspected it, and sometimes, if it looked reasonably safe, opened it. He tried reading it a bit, to get the jist of what it was before closing it and putting it back in the exact same spot.

Finally, he found something promising. He pulled out a thin book bound in sandy green leather; snakeskin perhaps. There was no title, but it had a gold ankh on the cover.

He opened it and braced himself for disappointment. So far, the books he'd opened were written in a variety of languages, none of which were English. He recognized Latin and Greek but there were also several scripts he did not recognize at all.

This one was written in tight, flowing cursive English.

"Progress," he whispered.

The journal was, as far as he could tell, notes about Gwen's previous encounter with the gods. It was page after page of theories, conjectures, and thoughts about the events rather than an account of them.

He scanned a line: "Though London is much changed over the years, it remains, as it always has, a blot on the surface of the land. If I could, I would sink the whole damned city into the ocean."

Yep, he thought, Gwen definitely wrote this.

He turned the pages, skimming, until he found Ammit's name mentioned. Gwen didn't have much to say about the goddess other than that she'd bound her to her own tether. Gwen's self-satisfaction was obvious on the page and James chuckled that even two thousand-year-old witches could brag.

She called the spell she'd used a hedge but it wasn't clear what that meant.

James considered destroying the ankh but figured that would only make Ammit's banishment permanent. Gwen found reason enough to not only not destroy the necklace but keep possession of it for over a hundred years. What had she been saving it for?

That she had it stored on an altar, a circle of salt around it, suggested it still had magic and was at least somewhat useful.

James pulled down several more books trying to find other references to whatever a hedge spell was.

He realized, while scanning a journal Gwen was keeping about her garden, that magic, at least Gwen's variety, was algorithmic.

Her spells, as far as he could discern, were simply a series of if/then statements.

He thought back to his time in pararescue. Experience was what separated a new boot from a seasoned operator but experience in that sort of field was hard won and you couldn't afford the new guys time to fuck around as they figured things out. Hell, even training was dangerous if you had someone on your team that was too green. One way the military solved this was by algorithmic instructions, lovingly referred to as SOPs. James remembered countless hours he'd spent studying the "standard operating procedures" before ever stepping foot on a helicopter or plane. There were SOPs for every damn thing and, mostly, it was a stopgap for new soldiers to learn what was what until they got some experience under their belt. Each SOP was essentially an algorithm, such as the steps needed to procure a new uniform or how to maintain your firearm. The more time on the job, the less you had to refer to the SOPs.