The fourth installment of Wyrdtails
“Are you familiar with the concept of wyrd?” Connors asked, his youthful face a duality of compassion and cold determination. His pupils were gaping windows into alien planes of existence, where madness and creation birthed unimaginable monstrosities of mental constructs.
“Of course,” I replied. “At its heart, wyrd is the culmination of cause and effect.”
“Yes,” the occult detective hissed. “Exactly…” His voiced trailed off as he fumbled for a cigarette. He lit it with purpose, with a agèd bronze Zippo lighter emblazoned with a Hindu god on the side. He took a long drag from it then asked, “Mind if I smoke?”
He was, as they say, out of sorts. Sweating profusely, eyes darting here and there, especially into the shadowed corners of the room.
“Cause and effect,” he continued. “Cause and effect.” He was pacing nervously and I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. “Did you know what Sexton was playing at? Were you in… collusion with him?”
“I’m sorry?” And I was, not the least of which being that I’d ever opened the door to the man, but my inference was a matter of disbelief. What was Connors implying?
“The Liber Consecratus...” he bellowed. “Sexton couldn’t have come by it without your hand in it.”
“Consecratus? You mean the bloody Honorius Grimoire?” I’d had quite enough by this point and though I was quite a few years older than my unwanted guest, I began to bodily usher him toward the door. “That’s what this is about?” I was disconsolate, assured that this poor wretch had descended into madness, most likely at the hands of his deranged progenitor. “The Honorius is a fiction, boy. Nothing more.”
Connors allowed himself to be removed. He never really put up a struggle as I deposited him onto the front stoop. But he turned, straightening his coat and hat as he did so, his weight upon the skull-topped cane, and he said, “I take time when I come prowlin’, wipe my tracks out with my tail. That’s in order that no one discover, Whoa Lord, he can’t cross my trail.”
I asked him what he meant, but he mumbled something unintelligible. As he limped away from my humble residence, I hoped wrongly that he’d not darken my door again. As the occult detective was swallowed by the darkness, I heard him speak to someone unseen, “You had the right of it, Greg,” he spoke to no one there, no one I could see anyway, “If Murdock set Sexton on that path, he didn’t know it.” I saw him pause to light a cigarette off its near spent predecessor, my ears perking up as he continued. “I guess that leaves but one more ear to chew on..”
“Taliesyn House, then?” a spectral voice intoned.
“Absolutely, Mr. Mitchell… and with fervor,” Connors replied, to who or what, I still cannot fathom, but of Taliesyn House I was well aware and so made a point of grabbing my hat and coat and I trailed Landon Connors into the smothering gloom.
to be continued
Thursday, December 11