The Corpus Grimoire part 1

Prologue

It was a little known fact that spirits and demons had vaguely-defined territories on Earth, mostly centered within their own belief systems. This was to prevent war among them. For instance, Hell’s demons often resided in Christian-centered regions of the world, the Jinn usually stayed in Islamic regions, and the Oni usually inhabited the archipelago most modern humans called Japan.

According to legend, a demon, a jinn, and an oni met during their travels and decided to play an interesting game. A single spirit writing a book of magic would be powerful enough, but three spirits writing a spell book would make it one of the most sought-after tome in the world as it possessed three different magic systems. That much power, of course, would be detrimental to any mortal’s health, much less their soul. The price of ultimate power was madness and death, yet, the three spirits knew there were many who would take that chance.

The Carpathian man initially thought he was in a dream when they came him. They whispered into his ear, revealing far away lands and worlds he never knew existed. He prided himself on his mystic knowledge, but they humbled him by exposing his ignorance. And when they left, a single book was gifted to him. He opened it, taking in the strange writings and diagrams. Curiously, he saw movement on the pages.

****

It was a pool party but the swimming pool hadn’t been filled in some time. Men and women stood around the concrete pit, drinking, cheering, and waving fistfuls of money. In the middle of the empty pool, two dogs viciously mauled one another.

Creed moved through the crowd, trying to mask his disgust at the display. Being let in as a spectator was easy once he flashed some cash and placed a bet, but the hard part was pretending he was enjoying himself. He searched the area for cages but there weren’t any outside; the next step would be to check the large house next to the pool, which was guarded by two large men that were likely armed. Not wanting to draw attention to himself, he carefully moved into the crowd and stood behind a man with a solo cup full of beer. Creed gave a light shove and most of the beer went down the front of the spectator’s shirt. In his drunken state, he turned and struck the first man he saw, not knowing that Creed had already removed himself. In an instant, there was a brawl with two groups of friends throwing punches while the crowd gawked. The guards at the house rushed in to break it up and Creed carefully made his way around the back of the house.

When he picked the lock, Creed knew he didn’t have to worry about an alarm as the owner of the house would have reason not to set up a system that could bring police officers to his property. He entered a home gym and began searching for a basement. When he rounded the corner to the kitchen, he spotted another guard helping himself to a bowl of spaghetti at the counter. “Hey!” the man stood to his feet and began to go for the firearm tucked into the front of his pants, but Creed quickly reached out with both hands and slammed his face into the counter, shattering his nose. The unconscious man was shoved into a pantry and Creed soon found his way to the basement. Outside, he could hear the crowd calming down, which meant the front door guards would soon return to their posts. He had to act fast.

As expected, the dogs were held in cages downstairs. They immediately began to bark but when Creed produced the package of raw meat under his coat, they settled down. He threw a piece of meat between the bars of each cage and while the dogs snatched it up quickly, they were content enough to stay silent. He checked the picture on his phone and finally found the dog he was looking for: a Labrador/Rottweiler mix. “Your mom and dad are real worried about you, Moochy,” Creed whispered, “We’re gonna get you outta here but we gotta be smart about it.” Upon hearing his name, the dog began wagging his tail happily. Just then, he heard someone walking down the creaky stairs. Creed calmly glided to the other cages, particularly the one holding the largest dog.

When the home owner stepped into the basement, he raised his gun at Creed, “The fuck you doi’n in my house?” “Just bring’n a little karma,” Creed flipped the latch open and the dog darted across the room in a second. Large jaws clamped down on the gunman’s forearm and drug him to the floor, screaming. Another cage was opened. Then another. The dogs that weren’t mauling their former captor made their way upstairs and Creed could hear them escaping the house to get to the people outside. With Moochy still in the cage, he calmly opened it up and put a leash on the dog. The home owner was left a bloody mess and was in no shape to retaliate further, so they had no trouble leaving the house. Creed whistled happily to himself while walking Moochy to his truck; behind them, a crowd of people were being attacked by a pack of vengeful dogs.

On a train heading toward the area, Alysa was deep in thought. After Chicago, she spent some time in Boston, tending to her hospitalized friend, Labrat. This brief stay culminated in an adventure with the Commission, which she was happy to go on as it distracted her from her current problems. But it was time to go home.

Her late mother’s insurance company was still in the process of setting her up with a new home so she’d likely have to stay at Creed’s apartment for a few more days. She wasn’t worried about that as much since she was still contemplating her future. She agreed with her mother’s plan to be a protector in Winghaven but she was unsure of what that would look like going forward. She was no longer training to be a priestess; she needed to find her own way. She had magic skills but if she wasn’t a priestess, how could they be put to better use? Her thoughts were interrupted when she received a phone call from Helen Smith.

Helen was a middle aged divorcee and the mother of Alysa’s friend, Grace Smith. Alysa and Grace were best friends in high school but they had drifted apart since graduating a year earlier. Their last conversation wasn’t a pleasant one; Grace apparently felt that Alysa had neglected her and their friendship. It wasn’t an invalid feeling in Alysa’s opinion, however, as Alysa had been busy going on cases with Creed or being on the Commission. She knew people drifted apart after school and her unique status made it all the more difficult. When she answered the phone, Alysa realized she hadn’t even checked up on the Smith family since the zonbi outbreak and she knew that likely caused even more resentment.

“Alysa, are you in town?” Helen asked, her voice conveying panic.

“I’m on my way, Helen. What’s wrong?”

“Grace hasn’t been home in a while. Her work called so I know she hasn’t been there, either. I know you two aren’t on good terms right now, but I also know you care and you have the ability to- ”

“Okay, Helen, slow down. When did you last see her?”

“About three days ago,” she became quiet, “I’ve been suspecting she was up to something. Always secretive and acting weird. I-I think she’s been on something lately.”

“Did ya find anything in her room? Memorabilia? Stuff like that?”

“No, but the last time she was home, I overheard her talking on the phone about going to someone’s house. Someone named Grungy.”

“Damn,” Alysa muttered under her breath, “I think I know who that is. I’ll take a look when I get to town and call you back.”

“Sure. Thanks, sweetheart. I just want Gracie back home.”

“Me too.”

She hung up and slouched in her seat. Grungy was a name most people around her age knew, even if by reputation. He ran a trap house near a lumberyard in Winghaven. Grace’s mom already suspected drugs and if she was anywhere near Grungy’s house, it was mostly confirmed. She was planning to go to Creed’s apartment once she got to Winghaven, but she decided to make a detour. She surmised that finding Grace would be quick.

At Stagger Lee’s, Creed checked his phone while sitting at the bar. His girlfriend Cassandra served a drink to a patron and then leaned over to Creed, “Isn’t Alysa supposed to be in town soon?”

“She’s checking up on her friend,” he answered while sliding his phone back in his pocket, “There’s some trouble with the girl’s mom. We’ll catch up later.”

“I miss her,” she admitted.

“Me too, but she needed some time to clear her head, so-”

Cassandra suddenly cut him off, “Are you shitting me?”

Creed looked up at Cassandra curiously due to her strange reaction and noticed her gaze was locked on the people coming through the door. Curious, he turned in his seat and spotted two familiar women walking into the bar. The first was a pale woman with curly red hair running past her shoulders and the second was an equally pale Asian woman with dark hair of the same length. They both wore a black blouse, skirt, stockings and high-heeled boots. Both women also had black bags slung over their shoulders, which Creed knew contained a variety of tools used in witchcraft.

“Is that who I think it is?,” Cassandra asked.

“It is,” Creed sighed before taking a hard swig of his beer.

“Hi, Creed,” the red-head exclaimed as she waved with her fingers.

“We knew we’d find you here,” the Asian woman continued.

“Valencia, Janey,” Creed reluctantly greeted the two women and then made sure to introduce Cassandra, “This is my girlfriend, Cassie.”

“The red-head is Valencia, right?” Cassandra asked, “And the other’s Janey?”

“That’s right,” Valencia answered politely.

“Those tattoos are badass,” Janey said, “I can see why Creed likes you.”

“Yeah, he likes me just fine,” Cassandra leaned onto the bar, “Turns out he only needs one woman to please him.”

“Okay,” Creed made a time-out gesture, “Ladies, what’re you doing in Winghaven and is it possible for you to do it someplace else?”

“We came to hire you for a job, silly,” Valencia told him, “You’re still a PI, right?”

“Someone stole a book from our coven,” Janey added.

“A whole coven of good little witches, you should be able to find the book yourselves,” Creed took another chug of beer.

“We would if we could, but the person was very thorough,” Valencia told him.

“And the book they stole was very important,” Janey added.

“What was it?,” Creed asked while taking more interest in his beer than the answer to the question.

Janey answered despite Creed’s attitude, “The Corpus Grimoire.”

Creed nearly spat his beer out. He gave the two witches a shocked look as he wiped his beard clean, “Your coven has the Corpus Grimoire?”

“We used to,” Valencia responded.

“For how long?”

“Longer than we’ve been alive.”

“You never told me that when we were together.”

“We don’t advertise for obvious reasons.”

“Although, there was someone in our coven couldn’t keep her mouth shut,” Janey corrected her partner.

“True.”

“Wait,” Cassandra inserted herself into the conversation while questioning whether or not she should, “What’s the… Corpus…?”

“Corpus Grimoire,” Janey told her, “Delivered to a warlock living in the Carpathian Mountains sometime in the 1400s. It was a collection of spells going all the way back to ancient Mesopotamia and it’s still considered one of the more comprehensive spell books in existence as it contained spells from three different mystic practices. Legend has it, it was written by three evil spirits: a demon, a jinn, and an oni.”

“And because of that, it’s chalk full of dark energies,” Valencia continued, “Capable of a great deal of damage, not just to others…”

“… But the person using it as well,” Janey finished her sentence.

Creed sat an empty beer bottle on the bar, “And someone stole it. Any leads?”

“We have a suspect who’s in Winghaven right now…”

“… Which is why we’re talking to you, specifically.”

“Yeah, who’s that?”

“Have you ever heard of Victor Athame? The singer?”

“Yeah, of course. Punk-Metal guy. He’s had a few decent songs, but the dude’s pretentious as hell, like his whole personality was built around being spooky. He’s in Winghaven?”

“Vacation home. Like you said, he wants to be spooky and this is a place that attracts the weirdos, as you know.”

“What makes you think he’s involved?,” Creed asked.

“A young member of our coven left a while back,” Valencia explained.

“She was in it for the aesthetics,” Janey said while rolling her eyes.

Valencia nodded in agreement, then continued, “And, of course, the pretty little thing ended up being one of Victor Athame’s groupies. She supposedly spilled the beans that we had the Corpus Grimoire and he’s been asking about it ever since.”

“When he first contacted us, he started off coy, but then he began asking to see it, even though we always denied having it,” Janey explained, “He even asked to borrow it like we’re a damn library. After that, there were increasing money offers.”

“Eventually, he got a little aggressive,” Valencia smiled strangely, “And we had to gently remind him of boundaries.”

“I bet you did,” Creed scratched his beard, “You think he’s slick enough to break into a coven?”

“He could’ve had the Grimoire stolen. He has connections to all sorts of scummy people… He does try so hard after all,” Janey batted her eyes at Creed, “With him already in town, we were hoping you could look into it.”

Creed turned to Cassandra, “You make the call with this one. Take the case or no?”

“We can understand not wanting him alone with an ex… or two,” Valencia said with a hint of condescension.

Taking up the challenge, Cassandra stared at both women, “I trust my man,” she pulled Creed in close and kissed him passionately and when they parted, she said, “Have a good one, Killer.”

“Guess I’m finding a missing book,” Creed stood up and straightened his jacket. He wasn’t keen on working on a case with two ex-girlfriends and he wondered if that last bit of condescension was an intentional ploy to get Cassandra onboard. Still, he knew the Corpus Grimoire was dangerous in the wrong hands and, as always, it would be up to him to save the day. He hoped Alysa was having an easier time on her case.

In another part of town, Alysa pushed open an unlocked door and stepped into a dark living room littered with garbage. She held her hand over her mouth and nose as a foul stench punched her in the face immediately. A fat, pantsless man was unconscious on the filthy couch and a couple were having a heated, methadone-fueled argument in the kitchen around the corner. Alysa made her way down the hallway, stepping over another unconscious form on the shadowy floor. She found her way to a bedroom that was covered in clothes. There, Grungy sat on a bed-less mattress with a young woman under the covers, wearing a bra and panties. The man was gaunt with greasy hair and stained clothes. He seemed to be coming down from a high when he noticed Alysa in the doorway.

“What the-,” he rose to his feet but Alysa telekinetically shoved him back on the mattress. The girl under the covers stirred but otherwise, didn’t wake up.

“Grace Smith,” Alysa said quietly, “Know `er?”

“Hey, aren’t you that one chick?,” Grungy slurred, “The Commission?”

“Grace. Smith.” Alysa’s voice rose slightly.

“Grace Smith? Don’t know `er.”

Alysa raised her palms and a fire emerged in each hand, “I ain’t got time for no games.”

Grungy crawled backwards across the mattress until he hit the wall. The young woman muttered something incomprehensible and rolled over.

“Ever see something like this before?” Alysa asked, indicating the twin mystic flames.

“N-no.”

“Yeah, well, you’re gonna see what I can do with it if you don’t tell me the truth. I’m gonna say the name again and you’re gonna give me more than ‘I don’t know’… Grace Smith. White girl `bout my age. Blonde hair.”

“Oh yeah,” Grungy feined a returning memory, “I think a girl named Grace came here once.”

“You think or you know?”

“Yeah, okay, Grace partied here a few times. But she ain’t here right now, I swear. She left like three hours ago. Maybe four.”

“Where’d she go?”

“My guess is the Asylum.”

Alysa and everyone else in Winghaven knew about the old abandoned asylum. It once housed Heinrich Mason before his death. As was often the case, the asylum was notorious for human rights violations and was eventually shut down in the 80s. As was typical in Winghaven and abandoned asylums in general, it was rumored to be haunted.

“Why the Asylum?” she asked.

“Some old lady showed up here today. Just a weird hippy with flowers and shit in her hair and like a weird accent. No idea what her name was or noth’n. She said she wanted to bring one of the girls somewhere,” he made sure to add, “Grace agreed to go herself! I didn’t say shit about it.”

“Right, totally innocent, huh?”she said incredulously, “What makes you think they went to the Asylum?”

“The lady asked for directions and if it was haunted and atuff. Like I said, I got no idea who she was or what she wanted. Go to the Asylum yourself if you don’t believe me.”

“Yeah, I just might,” Alysa looked down at the young woman still in a stupor. “Before I go…,” she casually stepped onto the mattress and crouched near the wall, which confused Grungy. She placed one hand on the girl’s forehead and then reached out to touch Grungy’s forehead. There was a mental transfer, the girl’s inebriated state and whatever mental and emotional turmoil she was in was suddenly brought to Grungy’s mind. He gasp and fell off onto the filthy floor. “That’s how that feels!” Alysa roared before turning back to the now-sober young lady who was now searching for her clothes.

“Hey,” Alysa stepped off the mattress, “Girl, you got someplace to stay tonight? Someplace safe?”

The woman retrieved her clothing and stuttered, “Uh, y-yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Alysa took her by the hand, “Then you get your ass there right now. Kay? If Grungy gives you any trouble later, you come talk to Alysa Saraki or Farrell Creed.”

“Thank you,” she half-whispered before leaving the bedroom.

Alysa left the house soon after, with Grungy still on the floor. She was headed to the Asylum and there, she hoped to find Grace and end the situation as soon as possible.

In a dark, filthy building, an intricate summoning circle had been drawn on the floor in black smudge. Grace Smith sat on her knees inside the circle, lit by candlelight. Behind her, a woman’s white gown was scarcely visible in the shadows. A whispered an incantation came from the darkness and in a language Grace didn’t recognize, largely due to her drug-induced fog. Against her will, her mouth dropped open as an invitation was made. It wouldn’t have been visible to the naked eye, but a spirit that haunted the asylum entered her, passing through her body, affecting her aura. When it was finished, it left. Then came another spirit. It cleansed the body and left the same way. More came, one-at-a-time. It went on for over an hour until the ritual was finished.

Continued…