THE WITCHING HOUR

 

The orphan, Richard Blaine, must find it within himself to fight his worst enemy: his own fear.

THE WITCHING HOUR

“Man’s knowledge is a receding mirage in an ever- expanding desert of ignorance.”

- Lamashtu Morton

 

“You agreed to what?” exploded Miss Mayfair the next morning in the library.

“It was the only way I could keep you safe.”

“I am a big girl, Mr. Blaine. I can keep myself safe, thank you very much!”

“I know. Just three days ago, I saw you take out those three Triad assassins who slipped in here 

before I could even completely get out of the chair.”

Her eyes narrowed. 

“And just why were you getting out of the chair in the first place?”

“To help you hide the bodies. It’s what a good assistant librarian does for his supervisor.”

Sister Ameal, who was watching us amused, said, 

“Which you should have known I would help her with. It is what a good sensei does for her gakusei.”

She turned to Miss Mayfair. 

“But Mr. Blaine is correct. If you went with him, his mind would be divided. And that would prove fatal for our young librarian.”

Miss Mayfair gave a half-hearted protest, but Sister Ameal was right … as she frustratingly always was.

So, that was how that night, I was in my Sunday’s best in the library with a very dry mouth reading Psalm 91:

“4 He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and buckler.

5 Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day;

6 Nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday.

7 A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.

8 Only with thine eyes shalt thou behold and see the reward of the wicked.

9 Because thou hast made the Lord, which is my refuge, even the most High, thy habitation;

10 There shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling.

11 For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.”

It was at that very moment that Helen Mayfair walked into the library like a longed-for mirage of water in the desert.

Slipping the Hanged Man card into the Bible for a bookmark, I rose sharply to my feet.

“Miss ….”

“Richard, tonight call me Helen.”

“A-All right, Helen.”

She brought a slim leatherbound volume from her skirt’s pocket: 

Thomas Babington Macaulay’s Lays of Ancient Rome.

“There is a verse in this book that has always spoken to me. I knew not why. Tonight, I know.”

She brought the volume up, and it opened naturally to a spot as if she had turned to that page often. 

Her voice changed, becoming stirringly Other:

“Then out spake brave Horatius,

The Captain of the Gate:

"To every man upon this earth

Death cometh soon or late.

And how can man die better

Than facing fearful odds,

For the ashes of his fathers,

And the temples of his gods?"

“Helen, I don’t plan on dying.”

A deep voice unlike any I had ever heard before spoke from the shadowed ceiling. 

“None do when the End arrives.”

Helen cried to the ceiling. “You promised me time before you took him to Morton.”

“And time was yours. You spent it girlishly on verse when you could have given him his first, his last kiss.”

I felt lifted, though I still stood on the floor. His voice whispered in my ear.

“I take you to the Dark One, while taking the memory of our meeting from your mind. 

If you survive, we will meet across the seas. If … if … if ….”

Music, strange and stirring, filled the darkness around me.

Then, no lifting, no pulling. I was suddenly in front of Mr. Morton, studying an antique chessboard with ivory pieces.

It, of course, sat behind the black chessmen.

It cocked its withered head. “Interesting overture with which Elohim has graced you. 

The prelude to a movie not yet made.

Should you survive tonight – which you will not – my adversary means you to be the new T.E. Lawrence.”

I frowned. “As in The Seven Pillars of Wisdom? Lawrence of Arabia?”

I made a face. 

“The seven pillars, huh? Well, I do believe in the unseen. It’s when they become seen that I have a hard time with them.”

“I bore of this empty verbiage. Let us proceed with your death, shall we? Sit down.”