Waking the Moon

field.

“We are always the strongest, Katherine! Force majeur, and we always prevail. Even in this darkness—”

He swept up behind me. “Even now, we will prevail—”

In the wasteland a light appeared. Not the carnal blaze of a bonfire, but a steady glow, deep blue and shot with sparks of living green. The glow took shape, grew into a single pillar—then two—then four; until I was gazing upon the spires of a cathedral, tiny and perfect as though carved of crystal. Upon the horizon a second light appeared, and another edifice arose—a mosque this time, its dome a cobalt tear.

“Witness our legacy,” cried Balthazar.

As though he had sown them, more and more structures sprang up, each more intricate than the one before. Pyramids of glass and steel, glittering alcazars and raised tombs of stone, pavilions and columned temples and immense black slabs of polished jet: all shining like gems, like prisms of flame. A stone had been hurled into the abyss and the darkness shattered, and each shard shone as brightly as a sun. A chorus of voices rose from them—voices now sweet and high and clear, now deep and tolling like those drowned bells that ring the changes beneath the sea. I could not make out their words, but I understood them well enough. They were singing joy and pride and courage in the day, singing long and loud against the dark.

“Do you understand now, Katherine?” Balthazar’s laughter sounded close beside me. “There is no choice, really—not unless you would choose darkness and ignorance over light and order.”

I felt his hand rest lightly upon my shoulder as he went on.

“Though it does not matter—not for you, at least. I show you these things just so that you will not forget— so that you will have something to take away with you from the Divine. Something to remember us by, if you will.”

I felt a tightening in my throat. “What are you going to do with me?”

“Nothing.” Before us the lights winked out, one by one. The glorious singing faded into the wind. “I will take you downstairs, and Francis will drive you back to the city—”

“Francis!”

He made a dismissive gesture. “I have much to do now. This has taken too much time already. Someone will be contacting you about forwarding your transcripts to your parents. I have no doubt but that you will do much better at your next school.”

He turned and began to walk away from the door. I watched him, stunned, then looked back at the portal.

Beyond it loomed the abyss. As I stared the outlines of the doorway became more distinct. The wood’s grain and the faint glister of light upon the doorknob grew brighter and brighter, until what lay behind them was all but lost to view.

“Behold the world She would give you…”

Yet could that truly be the world Angelica’s Goddess would bring?

I know enough not to buy into every idea my father taught me. Or Balthazar Warnick…

Why should the darkness be seen as evil and bleak and nullifying? Why women’s magic nothing more than rutting in the cinders? Why chaos and the end of all things?

Why is a raven like a writing desk?

“Katherine,” Balthazar said, gently but insistently, “it’s time to go.”

“No.”

Before he could stop me, I darted to the edge of the portal.

“Katherine! Get away from there—!”

Behind me lay Balthazar’s study. Somewhere in the lodge beneath us Annie slept, and Baby Joe. Somewhere Oliver slept as well, swept into the night on a tide of Demerol and hospital sheets; and perhaps even Angelica, perched on the cusp between earth and sky, dreams and waking.

That left me and Balthazar Warnick. His hands clenched as I edged away from him.

“If you step through there you will be destroyed!” he cried. “It is nothing!—”

“I don’t believe you, Professor Warnick!”

I took another step. The wooden lintel disappeared into fog. I stood upon a precipice hanging out above the abyss. “Nothing is that simple—maybe Angelica is wrong, but you’re wrong too! Or maybe you’re both partly right—”

The freezing wind howled up from the wasteland. Behind me Balthazar shouted, but his words were lost to me. Suddenly I laughed.

Because if it was a choice between the void and what lay behind me—the loss of my friends, the loss of the Divine and all its promise—then I would take my chances with whatever was down there rooting in the night. I turned to look at Balthazar—and jumped.

For an instant he was frozen in the air before me: hands outstretched, his mouth open in a wordless cry. Then it was as he said—

A raging wind, ice and darkness and the freezing air tearing my clothes from me, my flesh and hair and voice—

Nothing.

I came to in some kind of shed. Eerie blue light resolved into a wintry glare filtered through walls of translucent corrugated plastic. There was a strong sweet smell. Lemons, but chemical lemons. I rubbed my eyes, looked down, and saw that I was sitting on a nearly empty plastic container. Greenish liquid spilled on my boots. My stomach churned; I put one hand in front of my face and with the other pushed forward, until I felt the thin plastic give way. A door opened and I fell out onto the driveway in front of the Shrine.

“Ow.”

I got to my feet unsteadily. I felt light-headed and a little sick to my stomach, but otherwise okay. Above me the Shrine was booming the quarter hour; but which hour? Seven, I guessed, by the grey thin light and the scattering of cars across the parking lot. Seven-fifteen on a Sunday morning. At seven-thirty the first Mass of the day would begin.

I wiped my gritty hands on my shirt and hunched my shoulders against the cold. As I headed for my dorm I glanced over my shoulder at the utility building I’d stumbled from. Its cheap plastic door flapped open, but then the wind slammed it shut again, and I glimpsed the sign there—

Members Only.

I went to Rossetti Hall. My key still opened the front door, but when I got upstairs to my own room the lock had been changed. It was so early there was no one in the hall or lounge to ask about it, but I didn’t want to stick around and risk running into Francis Connelly or something worse.

I hurried up another flight to Angelica’s room. I banged on the door, but there was no answer. It was too soon for them to have returned from West Virginia; at least that’s what I hoped. I slunk outside through the back door, feeling like I had a big black X on my forehead.

It was just like my first day at the Divine, that first awful day before I met Oliver and Angelica. The few people I saw paid no attention to me at all. I might have wondered if they even actually saw me, except that an immaculately dressed family hurrying past on their way to the Shrine gave me disapproving looks. I must have looked exactly like what they were praying to be delivered from. I dug into my pockets, fished around until I found a few wadded bills and some change, and went to the Shrine to scavenge breakfast.

I ended up spending most of the day there. I was afraid to venture back out onto the Strand. I hid in a corner booth and drank endless cups of coffee, bought a pack of cigarettes and rationed them, one every twenty minutes. I even slept for a little while, my head pillowed on the Formica tabletop, until the clatter of dishes and silverware woke me. When I looked up I saw the old round schoolhouse clock at the end of the room, its red second hand sweeping briskly along. Four o’clock: time for tea. I shoved my cigarettes into my pocket and went in