Ritual Reality
2 Midnight Caper
Thursday, 31 October 1968
Judith tucked her hair up under the short black wig until no blonde strands could be seen. She positioned the black broad-brimmed hat on her head and fastened the cape neatly around her black bodystocking, its red silk lining adding the only color accent to her costume. The cape also served to cover the black shoulder bag that was slung behind her. Finally, she fastened her rapier to the belt.
This was her third date with Wayne in two weeks—a kind of dating speed record in her experience. The first date had been the cast party on opening night. The second was Wednesday for ‘Brown County Day,’ when the entire school took a day off to go play in the woods at the state park near Bloomington. She’d ridden the sixty miles on the back of his motorcycle with her arms wrapped around him. They’d held hands all day as they walked through the park and on the return trip she’d made sure her hands were kept warm under his leather jacket. Of course, she didn’t count the group outings after the show each night when they went to the Waffle House or the TeePee. Nor did she count meeting in the lobby of the dorm to study together or to walk to class in the morning. Perhaps it was odd to have a date on Thursday night, but tonight was Halloween and they were going to a theatre costume party.
She turned toward the door and then turned back. One more thing. She knotted the black mask over her eyes. She had designed it so that a corner could be pulled down to fairly cover her entire face. That would come later.
The knock at her dorm room door was perfectly timed. She opened it to Wayne, who stood gaping at what he saw. She was pleased with his response.
“You are gorgeous!” he exclaimed. “Zorro never looked so good.”
“Who is Zorro?” she asked.
“The Spanish noble who put on a mask and cape and took on all the Mexican injustices in the California territory. Isn’t that what your costume is?”
“No. It’s the Highwayman, from the poem by Noyes,” she answered.
“I thought the Highwayman was a dandy in scarlet and doeskin!” he said.
“Poetic license. He dresses in what makes him look good and so do I.”
“No kidding! That is…” Wayne paused while he looked her over carefully. Very carefully. “That is really sexy.”
“Now, let me guess you.” She walked around him, giving him just as thorough a once-over. He was resplendent in a gold lamé tunic. He wore gold tights and sandals. He did look good in tights. He had an ivy wreath in his hair and carried a strange stringed instrument beneath his arm.
“You must be an angel with that harp,” she said, pointing at it.
“Lyre.”
“Am not.”
“No, this is. A musical instrument of the ancient Greeks.”
“Hah! Gave it away. Apollo,” she guessed.
Yes, said the supreme shape,
Thou hast dream’d of me; and awaking up
Didst find a lyre all golden by thy side,
Whose strings touch’d by thy fingers, all the vast
Unwearied ear of the whole universe
Listen’d in pain and pleasure at the birth
Of such new tuneful wonder.
“From the Keats poem I’m doing for this paper. It’s great, don’t you think?”
“Fantastic. I should have known,” she answered. “I think I’ll still call you my angel.” Actually, she did know. Wayne had taken her hint to analyze Keats’s use of mythological imagery in his fragment “Hyperion” and thought the idea had come from Dr. Allen when he quoted a line from Hamlet. It was a good idea, she justified to herself. She was taking advantage of the situation, not really using him. He would do very well on his paper and never mention to anyone that she had suggested it.
And tonight, she would see to it that he could find the appropriate references. That made her edgy. Judith was more than she appeared to be and had learned her craft from some of Britain’s finest teachers. They could never have anticipated how she intended to use it.
The party was all theatre people who had access in one way or another to resources of costumes and make-up. The result featured characters from plays that had been performed over the years at the college. There were also a good number of people who had set their imaginations loose to develop costumes that were out of this world.
It didn’t take long before the party was swinging. There was plenty of food and lots of music. In passing a closed door, Judith could smell that there were things more exotic than beer available as well. To each his own. It didn’t seem that she had to worry about Wayne. He never made a move toward the room, but was quite the attentive date. For her part, she made a show of getting fresh beers frequently. Each, however, she would take a careful sip from and conveniently lose.
As the evening wore on, the party mellowed out and the group sat around telling ghost stories. Judith tipped her head against Wayne’s shoulder and looked up at him.
“I think I’ve had too much to drink,” she said. “I’m feeling rather squiffy.”
“Oh god!” he answered, suddenly alert to her needs and remembering how many beers he’d seen her open. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Oooo. I hate to ruin your night,” she moaned.
“No, no. Don’t worry about that,” he said. “Here, lean against me. Okay?”
“Would you take me home?”
“Sure. Can you stand the ride?”
“I’ll make it. But I think I’d better go.”
“Okay.”
“Sure you aren’t mad at me?”
“Hell, no. This ghost story stuff always freaks me out anyway,” Wayne confessed. “Much rather take you home. The fresh air will do us both good.”
It was just after eleven when they reached the dorm. She leaned heavily on him as they walked in. The dorm monitor at the desk carefully turned his head away as they signed in. As long as they weren’t disorderly, he wasn’t going to turn them in as drunk, even though it was obvious.
Wayne walked Judith to the door of the women’s wing and then paused. She tilted her head toward him, and for the first time their lips touched. Talk about electric. Judith almost forgot she was supposed to be sick.
She broke away from him suddenly and looked him straight in the eye.
“Can you hold that thought till later?” she said.
“Sure,” he answered.
“Like tomorrow?” she asked.
“Okay.”
“Good.” She covered her mouth, turned and bolted through the door to the women’s wing. Wayne started after her to help, but it was after hours and the dorm monitor was glaring at him now. He turned and went slowly to his own room.
Judith didn’t even slow down at her room. She continued right on past and out the back doors. She had jimmied the alarm earlier and set the doors so she could get back in. With a quick check to see that it was still set, she hurried out into the cool night air.
Samhain—last spoke of the wheel of the year. She wished she could take even a short step between the worlds tonight, but it simply wasn’t possible. Wayne had already started his research in the library. She wouldn’t have another chance without being obvious. She wrapped her cape around her and hurried on, keeping to the shadows—just another kid in a Halloween costume.
She had spent Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights during performances of Hamlet prowling the Academic Building, timing security guards, and locating the most vulnerable entry and exit routes. When she reached the building, she pulled down the mask to cover the rest of her face. Tonight, she was a shadow—part of a nether world that to most people did not exist.
No one bothered to check for vulnerabilities on the slightly elevated main level and Judith had discovered a casement window with a broken ratchet. Four feet beneath the window, she paused to center herself. There were lights on this side of the building illuminating the stainless steel letters on its side. Indianapolis City University—ICU. She cringed at the idea. Tonight, she wanted to be seen by no one.
Eventually satisfied that no one could see her, she jumped. Her hands found the window ledge and she hoisted herself up, hooking a small jimmy beneath the casement window and swinging it open. She dove through the opening into the library, pulling the window closed behind her. She stood there catching her breath and reached to straighten her mask and hat. It was gone. Looking out the window, she saw the hat she had forgotten to secure lying in the bushes.
“Blast it!” she whispered. Well, she’d just have to pick it up on the way out. She shut the window and turned toward the interior of the library. She’d done her share of library research in the past week and didn’t need to use her flashlight until she reached the card catalogue. Interpreting the Dewey Decimal system and cross-referencing her entry had been the most difficult part of her task. She had taken blank cards from the back of a drawer, carefully dipped them in tea to turn them brown and old-looking, and had typed the information on one of the free manual typewriters in the library. The electrics cost ten cents for ten minutes. Now she quickly placed the entries in the main card catalogue.
That was the easy part. The real task was about to begin. The Rare Books and Manuscripts Collection was on the third floor behind locked doors with a new electronic alarm system. She had been at the library the moment it opened three days in a row. Luckily, she had a good ear for tones and was certain that she had the disarming sequence down pat. If not, her caper—and her study visa—would end quickly.
The key she stole earlier in the week made getting into the room easy, but when she opened the door she saw the red flashing light to her left. Forty-five seconds to touch the right keys in the right order. One error or one second late and the alarms would go off. The panel was shaped like the keys of a touchtone telephone. The tones were the same. She had practiced the four-note sequence over and over on the payphone in the dorm lobby. Now her hand was shaking as she pressed the keys. The red light went out, the green came on. She was clear.
Her plan was simple. Rebecca Allen had been given a task that endangered her life and anyone else’s she involved in it. It had been Judith’s fault. If she had not challenged Rebecca’s nomination as high priestess of Coven Carles, the door would not have been opened for the power-hungry high priest to twist it into this impossible task. Judith had inadvertently led Rebecca into the middle of a power struggle, and after that night four months ago, she would never listen to Judith again. She might, however, be persuaded to heed a different voice. Judith went down the rows of file boxes on the shelves until she found what she was looking for: Benjamin Wilton.
Rebecca’s husband had catalogued all the personal papers of Benjamin Wilton fifteen years ago and Rebecca had been obsessed with Wilton’s esoteric writings since her husband disappeared shortly afterward. The story of The Vagabond Poet was a little-known treasure of Coven Carles. Judith had copied it once in her own Book of Shadows. Carefully worded and with her handwriting as disguised as she could make it, she had recopied it on old scraps of paper, treated much like the catalogue cards had been. She coded them to match the library’s catalogue system and dropped them in place behind Wilton’s other writings.
Judith was closing the file drawer when she heard a key click in the door. She flicked out her torch just in time to see the red alarm light flash as the door opened. The newcomer was more adept at the security code than Judith. The tones sounded without so much as a flashlight directed at the keypad. The light turned green.
Judith was flattened against the file cabinets at the end of the room, scarcely breathing. There were no windows up here, so she could only hear the steps of the intruder. They moved to the side of the room opposite Judith and she heard another key in a lock. She edged her way around the center row of files to see a figure suddenly silhouetted in the moonlight streaming through a high-placed door to the roof.
The robed figure that Judith saw stopped her heart. Rebecca Allen stepped through the opening and disappeared, not letting the roof door quite close behind her.
Judith allowed herself only enough time to swallow her heart and then moved back to the entry door. She opened it and saw the red flashing light appear. Her hands were shaking as she reached for the keypad. Her finger slipped on the first key she touched. The red light held steady for a second just before the piercing scream of the alarm system filled the room.
Judith glanced behind her to see the roof door open as she bolted down the stairs from the room. Brilliant, she thought. Just what she needed. Caught between The Hart on the roof and security guards already at the front doors of the library.
She ran to the window she came in by, but could see a patrol car parking across the street. She slid down the stair rail to the basement and dove into one of the soundproof typing rooms. Lights came on all over the library. Well, Hart, I don’t suppose everyone knows you’re up there either, but that is your problem. Mine is getting out of here.
Judith climbed onto the desk in the private room and peered into the darkness of an air vent above her. She worked the grate loose and slid it inside, then, using the coin-operated Selectric on the desk as a stepping stone, she hoisted herself up into the darkness. It was a good thing she was small. The air duct gave her just room to edge into and smelt of dust. She wiggled her way down the pipe, nearly choking on her cape until she pulled it loose. She wrapped it around her sword to muffle its clatter against the duct. At least she should be safe here until the search died down, but she’d better start working on a way out. She pushed the grate back into place with her foot and began crawling.
After what seemed like hours in the air duct, she came to a vent that looked out into a darkened room. She was out of the library. She stuck her dusty head through the opening, flashed her light around what proved to be the theatre’s prop shop. This was where Wayne spent so much of his time as props master and student technical director. Judith slid head first through the opening, scraping her hand on the shaft as she did. It hurt. She could feel the warm pulse of blood from the scrape. She quickly wrapped it in her loose cape as she headed for the door.
At least the doors to the outside of the building weren’t alarmed. The school’s minimal budget directed that alarm systems be placed only on their most valuable areas: the rare books room, the vault, the women’s dorm, and the cafeteria. Judith took the first available exit and raced for the shadows. She zigzagged her way from bush to tree until the Academic Building was out of sight before running like blazes for the back door of the dormitory.
From the rooftop, Dr. Rebecca Allen, The Hart, watched the unknown figure disappear into the darkness.
It made no difference, really. Her rituals were never what they once were. There was no real power. It was just a beautiful ritual that soothed her. She’d lost so much of the beautiful music of her art, so short-lived that she sometimes had trouble remembering what it was like. Had she really called fire?
She let the door to the stacks close before the police arrived. She had an alternate way off the roof through the theatre fly space. But she didn’t need to go yet. No one would come to the roof. She went back to where the pentagram was sketched out on the roof of the academic building—where for fourteen years she had performed rituals eight times a year if she was in town.
“Powers of air, the East, the rising sun, attend me this night. Protect and guard me and take sweet perfume from my gift to you.” She knelt, facing east and lit a small incense burner. She paused to inhale the smoke and felt the first wave of peace wash over her. She moved on to the South. “Powers of fire, the South, the burning embers of my soul, attend me tonight. Protect and guard me and take this tiny flame to be your home.” She lit a candle, then rose to move again. “Powers of water, the West, the vast oceans, attend me tonight. Protect and guard me and quench your thirst from my cup.” Moving to the North she made her final salutation. “Powers of earth, the North, the rock beneath my feet, attend me tonight. Protect and guard me and take this offering of salt to flavor your feast.” Rebecca sprinkled salt around the saucer she laid at her northern gate. She turned the full circle again, depositing her Athamé at the East, her wand in the South, her cup in the West, and her pentacles in the North. Then she spun. She let her robe fall to her feet, and naked under the Samhain stars she spun in place until dizziness overcame her and she collapsed on top of her robe.
She could feel a shimmer of power around her, subtly glowing on the darkened rooftop. She giggled a little. She still had power. At least a little. She hoped the glow wasn’t visible from across campus. The glow dampened, but she could still feel the power.
“World of flesh and world of spirit,” she whispered, “part and let me walk between. Bring to me that which my heart desires.” If she could summon the sacred tools of the coven in a small ritual, her task would be complete. It would be a relief and she could take the position of high priestess of Coven Carles. She’d been so isolated and alone; she couldn’t imagine why the coven wanted to elevate her when she was nearly four thousand miles away. Perhaps it was time to move to England. But then Serepte… Her daughter would be taken away from her friends and the only home she’d known. At thirteen, that didn’t seem right.
Rebecca drifted in the midst of her circle, waiting. Perhaps she slept, but she noted that new incense had been lit to keep the Eastern Gate active. When had she done that? And why was she not cold? It was the end of October and even though Indianapolis hadn’t become really cold yet, there was the likelihood of frost before dawn. As Rebecca pulled back into herself, she realized there was a difference in air. It was somehow pure. Her eyes focused over the Eastern Gate and she saw a figure approach.
At first it looked like two people, but as they drew nearer, they merged and Rebecca’s heart sped up. Her summoning had not been for the tools of Carles, but rather for her heart’s desire.
“Wesley? Is it you?” The figure sat opposite the incense from her and smiled, somewhat wistfully. As they sat looking at each other, he gained more substance and finally found a voice.
“My darling Rebecca,” came the whisper through the night air.
“Oh, Wesley. Does this mean you are dead and speaking to me through the veil of the worlds?” He looked around, puzzled.
“I don’t think so. I don’t feel dead. Just trapped. Or transported. I just don’t know how to get back. I’m so sorry I abandoned you, my darling.”
“But you are back. You are here.” She reached out for him as he reached toward her but their hands passed through each other. She could feel the tingling up her arm as his insubstantial form caressed her.
“I think I cannot fully pass through. So sad, though, to see you here, naked in front of me and not be able to touch those beautiful breasts.” Her nipples hardened as she felt the tingling pass across her body. It had been so long. Her body was responding even to the insubstantial presence of her husband. And it was apparent that he responded as well.
“I can’t stand not having you,” she said. “How long will we have to be apart?”
“Apart? There really is no apart, darling. We are here now. We will always be here now.”
“I feel so alone, but I try, Wesley. I try to be a good mother. Our daughter is so beautiful. You would be so proud of her.”
“I am proud of her. Don’t worry love. We talk. She knows I am here. She is the key.”
“They’ve set me the task of gathering the tools of the coven,” Rebecca said. She didn’t know why, but she assumed that Wesley would know what she was talking about, even though her membership in the coven occurred so quickly after her marriage that they’d had little time to talk about it. There was too much going on in Greece. “The Athamé was lost at the same time you were.”
“Yes. I think this is important. You can’t achieve your goal without a partner. I can’t be there and would be a poor choice for what you have to do. Choose wisely and do not be afraid to take him to you. I don’t know why I know this, but he is important to all of us.”
Wesley’s shape wavered. Beyond him, Rebecca could see the lightening eastern sky. Rebecca looked down and saw the smoke from the incense dying.
“No! Don’t go.” She scrambled to get another stick lit from the ember of the dying fragment. Wesley’s shape was almost gone.
“We are always here now,” he whispered. “Always. Here. Now.”
The sun crested the horizon and Rebecca had only the voice in her head. She quietly moved contretemps around her circle, gathering her sacred tools, whispering her thanks to the spirits of the earth, water, fire, and air, releasing them back to their elements.
She was suddenly chilled. She pulled on her robe, gathered the evidence of her circle into her bag, and moved to the fly space of the theatre where she could ease herself through the fire window and down into reality once again.
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