Leviathan: Death - Lady Babalon series Vol4

PROLOGUE:

Shattered.

It’s the only word that described it.

In the beginning, I wondered if it was just poor eyesight. We were all getting older, reluctantly donning glasses to read. But it wasn't my eyesight. Well, it was my eyesight, but it wasn't a problem. It was an enigma.

As the Arcana’s Key of Death, I’d always been able to read someone’s fears through a quick handshake or grasp. It was a power I inherited from the five previous Death Keys who held the position before me. But this was not a magic that had been bequeathed, and I wondered if it was a power I could live with.

Shatter distorted my vision. It was like looking through a diamond, and every facet had a different image. A unique color. A distinct feeling. Not fractured like a kaleidoscope, which was one picture cut into a thousand pieces. Shatter was different, and I only saw it when I looked at Ellen. The Arcana’s Sun. Nic’s wife. My friend.

The splintering light had been growing around her for months. Truthfully, for several years, only now I couldn’t ignore it. The light was like a fractured haze that hung around Ellen, and I had begun wearing sunglasses to dull the effect.

I wanted to ask Marlowe or Roman if that's what they saw. Surely the High Priestess or the Magi had noticed it, too. Marlowe could see auras, maybe this was similar.

In the last of her days, I watched the shatter separate from her body. I no longer had doubts. I was watching Ellen Barnaby die.

I was Death. I saw the end. And hers was coming.

Death was afraid?

Yes. Absolutely.

Chapter 1: The Memorial

I couldn’t help but be annoyed.

The sun had no right to shine. The rain that always fell in Cornwall was burned away by a sunny April morning. It didn’t alleviate my sadness at her passing, but it was a decent excuse for sunglasses.

Today was a rare spring morning with the light playing peekaboo between the new growth in the tall, ancient trees on the property. A gentle breeze carried the sound of wind chimes hanging on every branch along the path. Small chimes with high vibrations rang in harmony with the deep gongs of larger tubes. Chimes were the symbol of remembrance Ellen had chosen. She would have loved this day.

Ellen had been Nic’s soul and Sean’s rock, and today was her memorial. Just because father and son were sharing it with family and friends, it didn’t lessen the pain for either of them. Or for any of us. Ellen was important to everyone at the Hermitage.

“Da? Can I carry Mum?” Sean’s young voice accompanied the tug on his father’s suit jacket.

Nic tried to smile through his resolute determination to see this memorial to its end as soon as possible. Sean was the only person able to pierce the layers of his father’s heart today, and Nic’s expression softened at the contact. He straightened, trying to mimic his son’s proper behavior.

“I’m sure she’d like that.” Nic looked around, unsure who oversaw Ellen’s ashes at her memorial.

That was Death’s job, and I stepped up, placing the urn in Sean’s small hands. “Here you go, Sean.”

Sean stoically accepted his new duty with a demeanor of importance, ready to lead the procession of grieving family and friends to a pond on the estate where Ellen had preferred to spend her time.

“Mathair? Seanair?” Sean used the Scottish salutation for his grandparents, motioning they should follow him. “Uncle Dillon.” Ellen’s brother nodded to his nephew, first in the line with a grieving parent on each side.

Sean pulled Rory beside him. For nine years, Sean Barnaby and Aurora Argent had been inseparable – Rory, Sean called her. Now everyone called her that. The two of them played together, ate together, and slept in the same room until they started school, which they attended together. Rory and Sean shared every moment of their life from their close birthday to now, the memorial of Sean’s mother, Ellen.

The two children didn’t speak during the trek, although their synchronized actions were a confirmation to everyone of the telepathic connection they shared, a trait usually attributed to twins. Any technicality of their different parentage or the six weeks between birthdays was inconsequential in keeping them from acting like brother and sister.

Even in the sunshine, we were layered against the morning chill under the long-sleeved commemorative tee shirt designed by Rory, with Ellen’s likeness in the sun’s face drawn on the backside. The line of mourners created a river of pale-yellow flowing slowly through the Hermitage, picking up more friends in the growing cortège.

The doctors had diagnosed Ellen's cancer while she was pregnant with Sean, and it progressed rapidly after his birth. Three years ago, when Ellen needed additional attention, Roman and Marlowe Argent moved the Arcana leadership from NYC to Cornwall, England. The Hermitage estate Marlowe inherited from her grandfather was a small village, inhabited by two dozen Arcana Family members working the land and providing security for the Arcana leaders. They also provided Ellen with the skilled care she needed.

'Top of the 9th', Ellen called her time at the estate.

The 'Bottom of the 9th' had come and gone too quickly. In the end, Ellen was weak and disoriented from the medications, sleeping most of the time. In the last few weeks, she wouldn’t eat, and quickly dwindled to a frail shell. But she never forgot who Nic and Sean were to her, and she shined her love on them with every waking breath.

As a remembrance gift, the Arcana members had built a large sundial in front of a dock at the small pond. The dial was six feet in diameter, using onyx as the base. The solid gold gnomon cast shadows to mark the hours on inlaid brass timelines. A short, white stone balustrade circled the dial, and Ellen’s friends took their seats along the stone benching. I brought up the rear of the procession and stood on the outskirts. Death was always last.

A trellis threaded with ivy and accented with gardenia blooms, Ellen’s favorite, provided a place of shade for the immediate family to sit. Sean’s free hand wormed itself into his father’s fist, his other clinging to the urn of Ellen’s ashes. Rory whispered something to Sean and his head shook, scooting to one side of the chair for Rory to join him. Always inseparable.

Nic’s deep breath as he stood did little to hide his grief, but in the Arcana's Family there was nothing to hide. Everyone had witnessed Ellen’s long and ugly fight with cancer. Our faces held the same resolve. The same loss. The same tears.

Today, we would set her free.

“Thank you.” Nic's choked voice broke the silence. “Just because you know the outcome, doesn’t make the finale easier to accept.” Nic’s start was rough, his voice gravelly. “But being surrounded by family and friends helps more than you know, and Sean and I are glad you’re here with us.” Father and son shared a sad smile. “Ellen was our Light. Wife. Mother. Daughter. Friend. Our sunshine. Your Sun,” he added, referencing the Arcana position she held. “She didn’t want any kind of big affair – although this group makes every gathering large.” We chuckled, understanding the common complaint. “Thank you for being here to share our grief, as you have been here for the last ten years to share our joys.”

Nic tried to say more, but his throat choked on every attempt, and finally, he sat, tapping his son's knee, retaking the small hand into his to borrow Sean’s strength.

Marlowe rose from the circular seating around the sundial, going first to kiss Nic’s cheek, then Sean’s, and nodded to Ellen’s family. I saw her smile at the role her daughter played as Sean’s sister. Marlowe had nursed Sean along with Rory so that Ellen could receive chemotherapy after he was born. They were a close family. We all were.

Blowing through a slow sigh, Marlowe turned to the Arcana sitting on the stone bench. Tears left trails running down her cheeks, but she smiled through them.

“Ellen was my best friend. My heart-sister. Although her life was short, her heritage will carry long into the future." Marlowe turned to Nic. "You can only imagine the number of promises I made to Ellen regarding you and Sean.” She smirked when Roman chuckled. “I intend to honor every one of them,” she emphasized to her husband, “and to honor Ellen’s memory as the most joyful part of our friendship.” She aimed her gaze at the young boy holding tightly to his chest his mother’s ashes in an urn. Marlowe tapped two fingers over her heart. “Here forever.”

Everyone in the circle mirrored her action, tapping two fingers over their heart. “Here forever.”

Roman stood as Marlowe sat. “I promised Ellen I’d drink with you every August 7th.” A date I knew was Nic and Ellen’s wedding anniversary. He nodded to his closest friend with a solemn smile before he sat. “Mark your diary now.” Nic’s head dipped in agreement.

“I promised Ellen I’d cook for you every September 28th,” Temperance announced, standing and sitting like a jack-in-the-box. That date was Ellen’s birthday.

“She asked me to call Sean every year after the first day of school.” Asher gave a curt nod to the young boy. “You’d better answer the phone, too.” Sean nodded gravely.

“Ah promised yer màthair to dress like Santa at every Yuletide.” Kyren winked at Sean. “Pr’tend you dinnae ken it’s me.”

Ellen had solicited promises from everyone in the Arcana, and one by one the vows were confessed. Dates, memories, and expectations were established. Everyone had a part to play. Nic pulled Sean to his side, breathing easier as each promise was declared, keenly aware they weren’t suffering this loss alone.

And then it was my turn; Death was always last. I removed my sunglasses to wipe the falling tears from my face. The same redness burned in everyone's eyes. The same salt was on everyone's lips. I wanted everyone to know that Death also grieved.

“Ellen believed dying was not a tragedy, but the ultimate freedom.” I smiled in Sean’s direction before turning to the somber group seated around the sundial. “You might be surprised that Ellen taught me a lot about death in these last few months,” I admitted. “But what made the biggest impact was the story she told when she solicited my promise.” I looked at each of the Arcana Keys before I locked eyes with Sean to share the anecdote.

“Your mother believed people die twice in their life. The first death frees the soul from the body. She looked forward to that freedom. She never feared it.” I nodded solemnly at Sean. “And she considered the second death as the last time someone said her name. So, I promised Ellen to say her name every day. And rest assured, Death keeps his promise. To Ellen,” I swore reverently.

“Ellen.” Her name carried on the breeze, whispered from everyone’s lips like Amen to a prayer. Her suffering was finally over, but ours would continue. Life without Ellen.

The sudden sound of Roman’s phone cut sharply through the silence, making us all jump. My eyes traveled the group, wondering who would have texted if all the Arcana were here. But if someone pinged the Magi, it had to be an emergency. Roman glanced apologetically towards Nic and stepped out of the circle, walking towards the pond for privacy as he pulled the phone from his back pocket.

And then Marlowe’s phone beeped. The High Priestess froze, embarrassed for the interruption as much as being concerned about the information.

Moments later, I felt the phone in my pocket vibrate with a text. Within seconds, the entire Arcana had erupted with notifications.

I watched Nic stand, unsure if he was irritated or relieved at the disruption from the text he was surely receiving as well.

“Give me thirty minutes,” Nic asked of Marlowe, resting his hand on her arm. “I need to talk to the family first.” Something – whatever this was about – would require a meeting with all the Arcana.

Holding Sean close, Nic nodded for Ellen’s family to follow him away from the group. Sean stalled, glancing between his father and Rory, sitting alone under the flowered arch. Extending his hand, Rory joined Sean as the family returned to the house.

Despite my initial hesitation, I opened the message to discover the reason for the interruption.

Darius Marello found dead in New Orleans, floating in the Mississippi River.

Well, it wasn’t bad news.

Around me, everyone was reacting to the same announcement, comparing the information received from their sources.

Darius Marello was a member of the Arkane. Well, ex-member. And technically, the Arkane didn’t exist anymore, either, although we were still hunting too many of its leadership. Now – one less. I couldn’t imagine what had drawn Marello to New Orleans.

While the Arkane member’s death would bring a sliver of relief to the Arcana, I also knew it opened a can of worms. The Arkane were driven by a desire for power; what they couldn’t buy, they achieved through rituals and murders. Now that one murder followed ten peaceful years, I expected more of the same.

Someone was trying to take control of the Arkane, and that put the Arcana in their sights, even if the first murder was one of their own.

Chapter 2: Who Killed Darius Marello

I was glad Nic requested thirty minutes before the Arcana met; I needed out of this shirt. I needed away from the group of friends pretending to be happy that Ellen was “free”. Free. And where did that leave us? Where did that leave Nic? And Sean? I never wanted to lose anyone I loved again. Don’t. Love. Anyone.

I had dealt the death card on a few occasions but had never experienced it closely. And it sucked. Even inside the house, I heard the ringing wind chimes from along the road. It was worse than an earworm. Despite the early hour, I wanted a drink. Needed it. And I headed to the parlor to wait for said meeting. The celebration of Ellen’s wake had shifted with the news of Marello’s death, and now the room held an abundance of food that no one had an appetite for.

Heading straight for the bar, I opened the wine chilling in a tub of ice. Pinot Grigio, Ellen’s favorite, and suddenly, the room was full of Arcana members holding out a glass for me to fill. Apparently, we all needed a drink. I emptied that bottle and half of another, oddly gratified that everyone had also taken the time to change out of the memorial tee shirt, even if the meeting looked like a funeral now that everyone was wearing black.

Tuning out the many toasts to their memories of Ellen, I drank straight from the remaining bottle, which spoke volumes about my mood. I hoped to never experience another day like today.

There was a time when I thought Roman and Marlowe had it all. I thought the same about Nic and Ellen. True love. Children. Home. Family. Purpose. I dreamed of having what the Arcana leaders had in their life.

Now I realized what it gave them was more to lose, and suddenly, I didn’t want what Roman and Marlowe shared. I certainly didn’t want what Nic was feeling.

Ten years ago, when Marlowe joined the Arcana, the couples fell together almost naturally. Marlowe and Roman. Nic and Ellen. Isis and Gene. Even Temperance and Ash finally acknowledged what they shared was a serious relationship. Everywhere I looked, I saw love.

Now, everywhere I looked, I saw pain. It wasn't even mine, and it was unbearable.

Being an orphan, I never experienced the passing of a parent or siblings. My only family was the Arcana, and Ellen’s was the first death in our group. I felt it with every desperate breath I inhaled, reliving the shatter every time I blinked.

Ellen was the Arcana’s Sun, and in her absence, the world was now filled with clouds. The room even smelled like petrichor. Of course she was ‘in a better place’, finding freedom from her pain and suffering. The cancer proved ruthless in the end. Some may even miss Ellen more than me, if that’s measurable. As her husband, Nic was certainly devastated. And Sean might not realize it now, but he’d miss her more as he grew to maturity. Hell, I missed my parents, and I’d never known them.

But my promise to Ellen was to never forget. Death never forgets. Subconsciously, I tapped two fingers over my heart. Ellen.

Finding my stash of whiskey under the buffet, I poured a hefty draw into two tumblers and left one at the head of the table before finding my assigned seating. When there was an official meeting, the group arranged itself in order of our Keys in the Major Arcana. Roman, as Magi, at the head of the table, Marlowe at his side – the High Priestess was the second Key. I took Death’s usual position for the 13th card and sat in the chair between Kyren and Temperance. Fourteen out of the twenty-two Arcana Keys were filled.

“I guess we all got the same news.” Roman raised his tumbler to down the whiskey shot in a gulp, nodding appreciatively in my direction. He knocked his knuckles on the table indicating the meeting had started. “Does anyone want to speculate who killed Darius Marello?”

“Yeah, because I want to send a thank-you card.” We all chuckled at Marlowe’s declaration.