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Plymouth, England
The Museum of Magick—with a ‘k’—occupied an old stone building that looked like it might once have been a fortress or a church. The structure appeared to have been built into the side of the limestone cliff, and had a commanding view of the Plymouth Sound, where the Mayflower had begun its famous voyage, bearing the pilgrims to the New World. Not surprisingly, the area was brimming with tourist attractions, including a world-class aquarium, a historic royal citadel, an art deco public pool, and a seventy-foot-tall red and white lighthouse, which had once stood nine miles out to sea on the treacherous reef known as the Eddystone Rocks. As was the case with most seaside tourist destinations, there was little activity given the season and the blustery weather, but the shops and attractions were still open for business, including the Museum of Magick.
Plymouth was three-and-a-half hours from London by train, and nearly six by car, so they chose the former, catching a taxi from the station to the Museum’s front door. Braving the rain, they hurried inside and approached the ticket counter where a young man with shoulder-length wavy blond hair, dressed all in black, greeted them with an amused if slightly surprised smile which brightened a few degrees when he saw Rose and Jade.
“Thought I was going to be able to shutter early,” the young man said. “Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t.”
“Must be our lucky day,” Bones muttered.
They paid the entry fee, a modest £5 apiece, and headed directly inside, browsing the exhibits which were, contrary to Maddock’s expectations, more informative than sensational. The displays began in pre-Roman times with the Druids and other pagan religions, which laid the foundation for Wicca and other modern traditions of witchcraft, then moved into the history of religious persecution of witches, to include those who were guilty of nothing more than using herbs and other traditional healing methods. At one point, Bones launched into an impromptu performance of the “witch-test” scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail.
“So if she weighs the same as a duck,” he said in terrible approximation of a British accent, pointing at Jade, who returned a withering scowl. “Then she’s made of wood.”
“And therefore?” said a voice from behind them with a far more convincing accent.
Everyone turned to see the young man who had taken their money at the door, entering the gallery.
“A witch!” Bones chortled.
Jade shot daggers at him. “Maybe I should turn you into a newt. Oh, wait. That would be an improvement.”
“We like witches here,” the young man said, beaming at Jade.
Jade managed a half-hearted smile. “I’m not a witch. But thanks.”
“A goddess then,” he said with a wink.
Bones gave a disgusted snort, but Maddock, sensing that Jade might be able to make use of the attention she was receiving, shot an elbow into his friend’s ribs. Bones grunted, but didn’t say anything more.
Message received.
“Since we’re a bit slow at the moment,” the young man continued, “I thought I’d check up on you lot. I’m Aramis.” He stuck out his hand. “Aramis Black.”
Maddock pre-emptively elbowed Bones again.
Jade shook the proffered hand and quickly introduced everyone, first names only.
“If you have any questions,” Black said, “I’ll do my best to answer.”
“Actually,” Jade said, “We heard you had one of the best collections of Dee manuscripts. We were hoping to get a look at some of those.”
Black registered pleasant surprise again. “I see you didn’t just come here on a lark. Yes, that’s correct. We have an entire room devoted to Dee. He was the first to truly bridge the gap between the spirit realm and scientific understanding. His work is the foundation for our exploration of magic.”
“Is that magic with a ‘k’?” Bones asked.
Black seemed not to hear. “The Dee Room is just ahead, but I’m afraid the manuscripts you’re asking about aren’t on display. They’re reserved for scholars.”
“We are scholars,” Jade said, then nodded toward Bones. “Except for him. He’s just a cretin. I’m an archaeologist. Rose here is a history professor. Our interest in the manuscripts is academic.”
“I should have chosen my words more carefully,” the man said. “What I meant to say is that they are reserved for the initiated.”
Sensing that the answer would test Jade’s patience, Maddock stepped forward. “Then this isn’t just a museum. It’s a temple, as well.”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“And I take it you’re not just the guy that works the counter.”
“No. I am an adept, and among other things, I am the historian of the Order.”
“We aren’t initiates,” Kismet said. “But my great-grandfather was. Adam Garral.”
Black raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Adam Garral was your great-grandfather?”
“Great-great actually, but yes. You’ve heard of him?”
“He was a great magician. One of the greatest. If he had not disappeared...” Black shook his head as if the century-old mystery was still a source of grief. “He was one of the founders. A pillar of the movement. Crowley took all the credit, but Garral was the wellspring. The true Therion. Some say he transcended this reality.”
“I know that he was studying the Liber Loagaeth before his disappearance. I’m trying to retrace his footsteps, so to speak. Solve an old family mystery.” Sensing he was on the right track, Kismet drew out the leather-bound journal and opened it, displaying the brightly-colored tarot card. “And maybe learn a little more about this.”
The young man’s eyes went wide as saucers.
Bones chuckled. “Not bad for a bunch of non-initiates.”
Black looked up from the card, staring at Kismet with a mixture of awe and dread. “Where did you find this?”
Kismet held the journal up. “Family papers.”
Black brought his fingertips together in what was either a thoughtful gesture or an attempt to enchant them. “Those would be a valuable addition to our collection. Perhaps we can come to some sort of arrangement.”
Kismet appeared to consider the offer. “The papers are private, but I might be willing to make an indefinite loan of this card. Tell you what. We really came here looking for Dr. Dee’s obsidian mirror.”
“Dee’s Speculum is in the British Museum in London,” Black replied, a little too quickly.
“We’ve seen it. And I think we both know it’s not the real deal.”
“We have other mirrors in the collection,” said Black, equivocally. “I don’t believe any are historically linked to Dr. Dee. You’re welcome to have a look at them but if you’re proposing an exchange... Well, I couldn’t possibly authorize anything like that.”
“Maybe we should be talking to someone else,” Jade suggested.
Black frowned but then inclined his head. “You’re right, of course. I’ll ring the director straightaway. Why don’t you continue your tour? There are several scrying mirrors in the spiritualist collection, just past the Dee room.” He seemed about to add something more, but then changed his mind and simply exited without another word.
When he was gone, Bones let out a snort of laughter. “Aramis Black? Seriously?”
“I feel like we’ve already had this conversation,” Jade said.
Bones shrugged. “Fair enough. Anyway, I’d love to play poker against him.”
Maddock nodded. “He definitely knows something about the mirror. Did you notice how he reacted when you mentioned Adam Garral?”
Kismet gave a thoughtful nod. “I did. And I agree that he’s not telling us everything. But it’s his move.”
They continued making their way through the exhibits. The Dee Room was a veritable shrine to the occult scholar. The walls were covered with photo-enlargements of pages from the Liber Loagaeth and other examples of Enochian writing, and there were a number of replica artifacts and a few that purported to be authentic. There was even a diorama of Dee and Kelley, sitting together, the former bent over an open book, writing, while the latter peered into a small crystal globe positioned above the distinctive magical diagram known as the Sigillum Dei Aemaeth—the symbol of the Living God—a seven-pointed star surrounding a five-pointed star, both inscribed with the names of God and several angels.
After the Dee Room came an exhibit chronicling the persecution of witches, both in England and in the American colonies. They didn’t linger there, but pushed on to the exhibits concerned with the emergence of spiritualism and the occult in the late 19th and early 20th Century. Maddock was surprised to learn that both arose from serious, albeit misguided, scientific inquiry into the nature of both the universe and the human psyche. As with Dee, a Christian who believed he was in communication with angels, much of the belief system of both the spiritualists and the occultists—men like Aleister Crowley—derived from traditional religious belief systems—Christianity and Jewish mysticism. One display gave the story behind the unusual spelling of ‘magick.’ Crowley had added the extra letter to differentiate what he called, “the Science and Art of causing Change to occur in conformity with Will” from sleight of hand performance magic.
It was, Maddock thought, both fascinating and a little disconcerting. Those who believed in Crowley’s system of Magick—also called Thelema—did so with a feverish intensity, enacting rituals that ranged from absurd to disturbing. Of course, the same could be said for the rites of most religions. What was the Eucharist if not a sympathetic ritual, eating God’s flesh and blood in order to gain some special favor with the spirit realm. It was just human nature to desire power over life and death, and all religions represented a concerted effort to find it. Magick was no different.
And yet, Adam Garral had used occult knowledge to find the Apex. Had his magical studies allowed him to unlock real supernatural power? Or had he merely gotten lucky, stumbling over the discovery while looking for something else, mistaking coincidence for some sort of divine action?
Maddock did not share these musings with the others. He wasn’t as interested in understanding the power of the elemental relics as he was in keeping them out of the wrong hands, and he sensed Kismet shared that mission.
Black returned, an eager smile on his youthful face. He moved in close, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper. “I couldn’t tell you this before, but...” His eyes darted back and forth, a touch too dramatically. “I know why you’ve come. The mirror you seek... The Magna of Illusion. The first elemental. I will take you to it.”