Divine Descent

Chapter Thirty-Three

                                          Elijah

My heavy boot slams into the wobbling door, once, twice and it swings open, the hinges tearing off the frame before rattling loudly on the floorboards. The neighboring porch light flicks on at the disturbance, but with one peek through her lace kitchen curtains at the tall shadowy figure breaking in next door, the elderly woman retreats back into the comfort of her home.

Vienna has been asleep for hours. And I've been on the move for hours. The Mercedes coupe sits diagonally in the grassy front yard, her engine still humming. To stop the door from swinging, my hand pushes the it open in one swift, defining blow, grasping on to hold it ajar. Seeing her in every surface of the historic flat, I take a few steps into the dark living area. Damien and Paris covered everything before they joined us in Cairo, years and years ago. Since then, the walls and sheets have collected dust.

It's a small miracle this place wasn't torn asunder during the panic. Most of the world had to be rebuilt since looting hit an all-time high. With each step I take further into the apartment, the ground quakes under my weight. I've entered the third winter without Cassandra. While the world finds a way to thrive, I'm weary. More importantly, I'm fed up.

Seeing better in the dark than I do in the light, I charge through the hall, to confront the only reason I've traveled all this way from Rome. I find the door to the study also locked, and lacking patience to locate a key, I tear the antique doorknob directly from it's slot, discarding the crystal knob onto the floor. I enter the place that was once her haven with trepidation, tormented by memories that cling to me like neutron stars merging into a black hole. It's all linked with loss, even the times I cherish.

Her handwriting still remains when I tug down the white sheet covering the massive chalkboard, scribbled gibberish in bubbly cursive letters. I make out sigils, various occult phrases, which are the very reason I'm here.

She searched to the depths of darkness to locate me. I intend to do the same for her.

I unzip the leather jacket I'm wearing, shrugging it off to get comfortable. I lay it on one of the plush lounge chairs, rolling up the sleeves to my sweater, prepared to submerge myself in her findings.

There are boxes stacked in the corner, filled to the brim with loose papers, manic drawings she made in her madness. Some make sense. Others don't, at least not to me. Her mind is vast compared to mine. I carry the collapsed bins, drawers and set them on the table. My eye catches the pill bottles, narcotics she drowned herself in to block the pain of my absence.

I wish there was such oblivion for me.

As I'm removing the first paper from the stack, my eyes close, forced to recall a moment, just days after I rose from the grave at her doing. We'd just decided on Cairo as our next destination, the place where we would start over.

She found me eying her board, her ravings.

"What is all this?"

She falters a step entering the doorway, seeming perturbed by my proximity to her studies. "I was trying to find you."

"I recognize these symbols."

"They're sigils."

I do my best to mask my disapproval. "Did you practice with these?"

"Sometimes." She sets down a bag of clothing Damien went out and purchased in my sizes. "Don't worry. I cleansed this space of the summoning."

"You were trying to summon me?"

"Yes, but I couldn't get the times right. You have to be precise or the whole timeline could shift. The ritual was complicated, so I second-guessed it. Maybe that's why the spell didn't work."