Kate called out too. “One here as well.” She walked back toward the door.
Soon it was clear all four of the mystical names were present, carved onto the floor or the walls. A quick inscription spell also told them that Pendragon’s hieroglyphics were also present. It had been a short night after the affair at Penny’s shop, and a long day of scouting the major churches of the London area. They had concentrated on those designed by Nicholas Hawksmoor, but they had also stopped at other churches as well, including the important St. Mary-le-bow and St. Paul’s Cathedral. The mystical names and symbols had been found only in four specific locations: St. George’s Bloomsbury, of course, and here in Christ Church Spitalfields. Two other Hawksmoor churches hosted the names: St. George in the East and St. Mary Woolnoth. All others were devoid of those specific occult influences.
“Obviously not a coincidence,” Simon said. “Two Hawksmoor churches with Pendragon runes. Two murders. And those four names.”
“From what I’ve heard of Pendragon, it’s surprising that he would delve into blood magic. He was the one of the Great Trio who was sane and decent.”
Simon ran a finger over a pillar where one of Pendragon’s hidden runes was carved. “That’s what I’ve heard too. He and Gaios and Ash created the Order of the Oak centuries ago. All of them so powerful in their magic that they lived through centuries. Gaios was the oldest, an earth elemental who went mad from power and perhaps just from the weight of living so long. Ash was a vivimancer who turned to necromancy to ensure her survival. Pendragon was a scribe, and he understood the balance of magic. And he understood the danger from those who practice the arts.”
“That’s why he designed the Bastille in Paris to act as a prison for sorcerers or monsters who were threats to mankind, like Dr. White and Gretta.”
“He even imprisoned his old friend Gaios because the elemental was prone to uncontrollable rages, and Pendragon couldn’t allow him to walk free any longer. But then the Bastille was stormed during the French Revolution and Gaios and the other prisoners were turned loose on the world. In the chaos, Pendragon was murdered, and without him to lead the Order of the Oak, the magical world became a capsized ship that pitched its crew into the water. Gaios and Ash are now two greatest sharks circling, and no one knows if they’ll attack one another or simply combine to pick off the helpless swimmers in the water until they are the only food left.” Simon looked up to a dim, stained-glass face of Christ high above him. “Pendragon was a hard man, but I don’t believe he would require blood magic to enact one of his spells. I’m convinced someone is trying to break his original spell, like a thief using a pry bar to force a lock for which he has no key.”
“Do you have any idea what Pendragon’s spell is?”
“No. I can’t read his inscriptions. He uses scripts from many languages, including ancient Egyptian. It’s incredibly complex, but I do get a sense of how powerful it must be.” Simon glanced around the shadowy white space. “The aether is thick here. Hawksmoor built these edifices to be mystical dams, it seems. I notice the aether here, as I did at St. George’s Bloomsbury.”
“What do you mean you notice aether?”
Simon looked down at her thoughtfully. “I’d like to show you something. Will you step outside?”
“What is it? Can’t you show me here?”
“I’d rather not. Not here where a murder has recently occurred. Outside?”
Kate tilted her head in acceptance and motioned for Simon to lead. He pulled a flickering candle from its ornate stand by the door and carried it out into the cold. She followed him into the burying ground beside Christ Church. The temperature had dropped and their breath misted into the air. Kate pulled up the collar of her coat.
Simon set his walking stick against a gravestone and blew out the candle. He crushed the black wick between thumb and forefinger. He held the blackened finger to her face and said, “May I?”
She nodded and he touched her forehead. He moved his callused fingertip along her face, studying his actions intensely. He finally stopped, considered whatever he had written on her forehead for a second, then placed his warm palm against her cheek. She heard him whisper and it sounded like the voices of a choir sweeping through a church. Her knees grew weak. Kate’s vision flared. Her heart leapt with alarm as tendrils of green appeared between her and Simon.
He smiled from behind a weird, living swirl. “Don’t be afraid. There’s no danger. Look around you.”
Kate turned and saw the once-dark cemetery aglow with aether. Emerald winds caressed every stone, sliding around trees, whispering across the serene facets of carved angels, slipping over the mournful faces of children in marble.
“Oh my God,” Kate said. “What is this?”
“It’s magic. It’s aether.”
“But it’s everywhere. I’ve never seen anything like this.”