The Pomegranate Path

Part One.

Richard Parker was being chased by something he couldn’t describe.

The creature was large, except when it became very small, and it maneuvered down the long corridor like a shadow — casting itself on the floor, sliding up the glossy tiles that lined the walls, and again up to the stucco ceiling. Richard might have stopped to wonder whether the being was simply toying with him had he not been screaming internally the entire time. At one point he did wonder if they were hiring down at Asbury in the records department, where it was unlikely he would find himself in situations like this in the future.

He reached into the pocket dimension tucked inside of his gainsboro trench coat and dug around until he felt anything. He withdrew a flashlight, which he tossed over his shoulder, missing the creature. Next came a butter knife which met a similar fate. Third time’s a charm. Richard pulled out a charm. A small piece of jade carved into the shape of a four fingered hand, dangling from leather cord. He centered the amulet in his palm, hit the brakes and reversed, using the momentum to swing his fist at the beast.

The fiend had grown to behemoth proportions, filling the width and height of the hall with it’s shadowy flesh and fur. Richard’s fist slammed into the beast’s middle and a flash of green light erupted from the point of impact, sending the monstrosity tumbling backward. He dropped the amulet, which disintegrated before it hit the ground, and took off down the corridor and around the corner into a massive room with an ornate vaulted ceiling.

The Tredentary was an one hundred and sixty-nine story tower located on an island off the east coast of Helensdale. Primarily used as a training and testing facility for the Hermetic Order, the Tredentary was equal parts castle and office building. Recently an overachieving neophyte, eager to impress in her first year, accidentally broke a seal on the fifty-second floor, removing the magickal handicaps which had limited the speed and power of some of the more challenging beasties. Richard was to deal with the consequences.

Magister Mary Fowler had volunteered him, suggesting that the situation might be a new and exciting way to appraise his progress. Having accrued seven marks against his record in the past quarter, the Order was eager to find suitable reason to have him benched. Four of the seven incidents resulted in firings. Richard, it seemed, had a knack for catching exemptus-level officers with their hands in the cookie jar, but not without straying from the Pomegranate Path himself. The remaining three incidents involved illicit drugs and, Richard thought, were hardly worth all the fuss.

He peeked over his shoulder as he rushed through the enormous parlor, dodging around tawdry velvet-backed smoking chairs and high-wrought end tables, but saw nothing in his wake. He slowed as he came to the opposite end of the room and stopped at the doorway, looking and listening for signs of the creature. Nothing.

Fine. I’ll draw you out, then.

Without lowering his gaze, Richard reached down into his satchel and withdrew a thick piece of charcoal. Kneeling, he sketched out a dondelastron on the milky marble floor. The curves on either side of the elaborate pattern matched perfectly, and had he centered the icon in the doorway one might have thought it part of the decor. Richard took the arthame from his belt sheath and winced as he dragged the blade across his forearm, letting the blood trickle down and sprinkle the symbol. He closed his eyes and muttered to himself, pausing momentarily to recall the words, then peeked out with one eye to find the dondelastron and his liquid payment vanished.

“Hi,” said a small voice behind him.

Richard swung around and brandished his obsidian blade, face twisted into what he believed to be a menacing snarl. Before him stood a teenage girl in her all-browns, clutching a large hardcover book to her chest. Her voluminous black hair was curled tight and spilled over her face and the front of her shoulders.

“Clever,” said Richard, and promptly slashed at the girl. She stumbled backward, catching the blade with her bicep, and cried out as she threw the heavy tome at him. The girl clutched her arm and growled.

“What the hell?” she cried.

Richard was examining the blood on the blade, lifting it to the light and squinting. He dabbed a finger in it pressed it to his tongue. Satisfied, he wiped the knife on his pants and returned it to its sheath.

“Just making sure,” he said, offering her a hand up. The girl refused, clamoring to her feet on her own. She retrieved the book from his feet and scuttled back a few steps. “What’s your name?” Richard asked.

“Larrita,” she replied curtly.

“You know you’re not supposed to be here?”

Larrita rolled her eyes. “Duh,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“Cleaning up after a know-it-all neophyte with something to prove.”

“Hey!”

“Knew it. They always return to the scene of the crime.”

“I didn’t do it,” she said. “I mean — I did, but not to be, like, a jerk.” Larrita sat on the floor, opened the tome, and began searching through the pages. “I was messing with history casting for a report I’m working on, and I used this.” She pointed at a page.

Richard settled beside the girl and snatched the book from her. He hummed and nodded, tilting the book and holding it out before him as he scanned the page. “Right, so what’s this do?” he asked, plopping the volume onto her lap and springing up onto his feet.

“You’re kidding,” she said. He wasn’t. “Aren’t you a major?”

Richard feigned shock, then let it fall away as abruptly as it came. “Little one, you do not rise in the ranks from memorizing enchantments or cataloging data in that hardworking noggin of yours. I don’t think I recall a single thing from that book, and I was a zelator for three times as long as the Order typically allows,” he said with unwarranted pride.

Larrita shook her head in disbelief. “It’s an unveiling ritual. It separates the spiritual history of a thing into chronological layers. Inspectors sometimes use it for investigations. Usually there’s a lot of noise, and it’s hard to weed out the relevant information, but when I used it here…”

Something stirred. Richard couldn’t resolve whether he had heard it or felt it, but he was certain that he thought something was stirring. Maybe. He tilted his head slightly, eyes wandering to the far side of the room. “Go on,” he said, still scanning the parlor.

“Well, some of the layers had soul impressions in them.”

“Imprints, yeah.”

“Right, that’s what I thought, but then I saw the Ipsissimus. She looked right at me, and I could see it in her eyes. Not an imprint — she was spiritually bound.”

Richard raised a brow at the girl. “Not possible. To my dismay, Catherine — er, Ipsissiums Quinn is still very much alive. Must be a mistake. An accidental conjuring or some such. See? What did I tell you about those books?”

It stirred again, and Richard heard or felt or sensed a low grumble.

“Alright, then, how do you rise in the ranks?” she asked, skeptically.

“One foot in front of the other,” he replied as he marched past her and made a beeline for the door. “Come along, now.”

Larrita regarded him quizzically for a moment before getting up and trailing behind. As she passed the threshold of the door she was seized and dragged to the side, mouth covered by a hand that smelled of lavender dish soap and pennies. The arms that held her were protective, but the recognition that it was Richard who had grabbed her did little to ease her concern.

“Be absolutely quiet and still,” he whispered. “It’s coming.”

He released her slowly, then pulled an elaborately engraved billy club from his trench coat pocket. He appraised the weapon, testing its weight and balance, and approved of it. The beast slithered through the doorway, its bottom half formless and billowy. It was now the size of a bear towering on its hind legs, with smoky tendrils hanging from its everywhere. A shudder passed through Richard as the abomination floated by without noticing the two of them pressed into the corner.

Richard leapt out behind the monstrosity and brought down his club upon its top. He tumbled forward as the cudgel swung through the beast, whose form dissipated like smoke upon contact. It broke form, becoming a whirling black and purple cloud, then reconstituted itself behind him, grabbing Richard by the ankles and dragging him back into the parlor. The massive wooden double doors slammed shut behind them, leaving Larrita alone on the other side.