I think chapters will alternate between our two protagonists. Or at least the story is flowing that way so far.
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The Conroy mansion wasn’t exactly hidden, except perhaps in plain sight. If he had been allowed to research it to any extent detective Williams would easily have found it, but hypnosis was a wonderful tool. Something that many magi had grown blind to, after being isolated from the mundane world for so many generations.
At the center of the mansion, beneath the dining hall, was hidden a room that wasn’t shown on any map and had never been visited by anyone save Leonard himself. Not even his father, back when he had still lived, or the members of his family that still lingered in Europe had ever been allowed to set their sight upon the sanctuary that was his private laboratory.
The reason behind that excessive secrecy wasn’t purely the usual paranoia that all magi possessed. In fact, the sanctity of that room was an essential conduct for the greater magecraft that he would once more execute when the sun reached it’s zenith. It was of the utmost importance that only Leonard’s thoughts had ever echoed through it, or the guiding echo might be drowned out.
He hadn't intended to use his trump card so early, but after his discussion with Williams he had decided that it was for the best. It would take at least a full day before the detective learned anything more, and Leonard wanted as much time as possible to explore through his own methods. After all, he was the superior and thus had to take the first step.
Sitting in a comfortable seat at the center of the magic circle that spanned the entire room, he gathered his strength.
How many questions could he afford tonight? The subject was rather precise and would greatly reduce the odds of obtaining a false answer, but that also carried with it a higher probability that he would encounter a strong resistance.
Finally, he decided on three. It was a number that had often been held to be of great importance in magic, and would likely be pleasant to what he would contact. It also restrained the possibility that his mind would be invaded by excessive knowledge.
Once more taking into his mind the mysterious crest that would serve as a point of reference, he closed his eyes and began the incantation that had long ago been written into his flesh.
“In my hands, the keys of knowledge
In my mind, the sought-after answer
In my soul, the will to learn.
I have walked through the halls of Ashurbanipal
Amongst the ashes of Alexandria
And toward the gates of Akasha.”
At once his magic crest began to active fully, his body burning under the impact of the prana. He had never seen it, but he knew that the magical circle had begun to shine in synchronization, read to carry the call further than his voice could ever reach.
This was his one and only masterpiece, the result of countless efforts. In Europe his family had never amounted to anything, but he felt that if the noble families could see what he had achieved here, the magic circle that sprawled underneath his entire mansion and increased his magecraft a hundredfold, they would have welcomed him with open arms into the heights of power.
But now was not the time to dream of glory. He ruthlessly blinded his mind’s eye to anything but his goal and sent forth his summons even as he impaled his left hand on the spike that had been built into his seat, sending his blood flowing through the symbols.
“I call upon the wisdom of the four winds
The lingering will of the dead
And the fledgling awareness of the living.
Pledge now your vow, wandering souls
To answer and not stay silent
For this blood, answer me thrice.
Be guided by my will.
Be bound by this rule.
Answer the call and speak.”
Blind to the world, he lingered on the verge of awareness and he felt his heart speed up despite his calm breathing. Any magus could send his consciousness into his familiar, but it was a rather different thing to send one’s consciousness flying to the winds with only a symbol as a guide.
The western wind came to him whispering easy answers, but he declined. In the realm of knowledge, easy and empty were siblings.
The southern wind came second, shouting the answers to all he would ask, but he stood his ground. Uncontrolled thoughts ravaged the mind and weakened the body.
At least came a third light, sharp as the frozen wind of the north, and he smiled. That one knew, but did not speak out of turn. It wouldn’t share as easily as he would like, but it would share – the spell ensured that much.
Yet as he approached, he felt himself drawn. This was no mere contact – he was being drawn in!
Swallowing his panic, he held firm to his awareness of himself. If he lost himself inside another, it would for all intent and purpose be as if he had died. The contract; he had enforce the contract.
Lashing out with his will, he cried out the words of binding.
“You answered the call and you will speak
Pledge now your vow, wandering soul
Be bound by this rule!”
The light receded and lost ground, bringing a smile to his lips. This one was strong, perhaps even stronger than him, but not so strong that it could defy him after answering his call.
This was his battlefield, the realm of the unconscious where he would never be laid low.
Reaching out, he touched the light on his terms and repeated his intent one last time.
“By the blood I have shed, thrice you shall answer.”
The light reached out to engulf him once more, and this time he allowed it. Now that the contract had been established, there was no need to fear; his mind would remain connected to his body by the crest on his chest and the imprint that he had left upon his room.
With a confident smile – or at least, what would have been a smile if he had been more than a spirit – he surveyed the other’s mindscape.
It was rather disappointing, really. A broken street in what was, as far as he could tell through the heavy rain, a typical town. The rain did not touch him of course, even in the mind of another he remained master of himself, and he might have been able to halt it altogether to see further. Still, he resisted the temptation; there was no sense risking a fight which might damage the answer he sought even if he won.
“You must be crazy, throwing yourself around like that.”
The angry voice almost made him recoil in surprise before he caught himself. Peering through the rain, he managed to make out a humanoid figure that had to be the source. The other was female if he had to guess, and apparently not as inexperienced in such matters as he would have preferred. Most of the times, he would be met only with a mindscape that would change to show him the answers; to manifest inside one’s own mind showed an awareness of the self that was uncommon in the modern world.
To the words themselves he paid no heed, what he contacted was the unaware self that governed dreams and any words that did not answer his questions would be intent to either provoke him or mere gibberish. In fact, since it was connected to his own consciousness for a time, it wouldn’t be surprising if it attempted to use his own knowledge against him.
“You have answered my call and will answer me thrice.”
Pushing back against the rain slightly, he established his position of strength.
“The context: An individual, or several individuals, has come to the town of Portland, Maine, and has murdered at least two caucasian males in their twenties since their arrival. At the place of the crime, they left the sigil that I will show you. My questions concern either this individual, these individuals or the sigil.”
Describing the context was, he had swiftly learned, essential. It prevented the other individual for mistaking his queries accidentally or on purpose, and restrained the amount of information that could be given in answer. He had almost completely lost his mind once, when a question’s answer had turned out to be far more complex than he expected and the information had come close to overwhelming his safeguards.
“Wow, talk about a stick in the mud. You’re not even going to act as if I’m there, are you?”
Once more, he ignored the meaningless drivel; it had indirectly acknowledged that it had heard, that was enough.
“This is the crest in question.”
With a simple effort of will, he conjured a phantom image that he had inscribed in his mind and was rewarded by the figure taking a step back. Oh yes, it was more aware than the average peon, but not nearly as much as he.
“What is the meaning that this mark was intended to convey on the scene of the crime.”
If he could have helped it he would asked for what it meant as a whole, but for all he knew it was used by some religion in some backward place where it could mean anything depending on the context.
Through the rain, he noticed a glimmer on the silhouette of his opponent. The first imposition of the contract had been engaged.
“It’s a vow and a request.”
Much to his satisfaction, the earlier mockery had been replaced by resignation.
“’We do this before God’, ‘witness our actions, O God’, things like that. I hear it’s popular among crazy people like you.”
Not so defeated that it would stop with the meaningless provocations then. No matter, as long as he had his answers.
An occultist that had become convinced of the truth of some fictional God, then? That would explain the presence of the Eye of Providence, but not the variety of the symbols. ‘God’ wasn’t know for sharing with other religions, and fanatics had a tendency to narrow their vision considerably.
Better to leave the subject, it was like a minefield due to how unfamiliar it was and he could ask the culprit once detective Williams had acquired him.
“Why did the culprit, or culprits, move to Portland?”
Even as the second light appeared through the rain, he felt a sense of amusement. Had he blundered?
“Who knows?”
Damn, he had made the mistake of assuming that his interlocutor was the unconscious of one of the culprits. If it didn’t know the answer, then the contract had no effect. He saw the light blink, and immediately focused again; it appeared as if the contract would still get some information for him.
“If I had to guess, they got kicked out.”
Kicked out? What an infuriatingly vague answer. Still, it reinforced his impression that the culprit was no magus; he hadn’t heard of anyone getting ‘kicked out’ of anything, and there were few enough of them on the continent that such an event were noteworthy.
“The third question, then.”
He had to make it count, something that he or the detective could use to find them. What was it that detectives always looked for? Oh, of course.
“Why did they choose to come here?”
For a short time it fell silent, before the third light forced it to speak.
“They chose Portland because there’s power in the names people give.”
What did that mean? He was about to demand answers – he was confident he had the strength to enforce at least one more request, even without the contract – before the rain stopped and the sky turned pitch-black.
He didn’t waste a second before breaking the connection, not even to take the time to see what the vaguely humanoid silhouette that now assaulted him really was. He had no intention to stick around while his interlocutor suffered a nightmare, and that was clearly what had been about to happen.
As his mind reintegrated his body, a simple task compared to leaving it thanks to the circle of guidance, he felt his muscles loosen suddenly and knew that he would have collapsed on the spot if he hadn’t already been sitting. Truly, those magi who went through rituals while standing were utter fools.
He would think on the information that he had obtained later. For now, it was of the utmost importance that he slept to allow his mind to recover.
And then he would talk to the detective again. More than ever before he wanted to meet the culprit, even though it was probably a mere madman.
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Originally Posted by Bloble
