James Hutchins (0roborus) wrote in birthrightrpg, @ 2020-08-17 21:21:00 |
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Entry tags: | james hutchins, ~phanuel |
Divine Intervention
Who: Phanuel & James
What: Supplies Required
When: Present, Daytime
Where: Curiosities, Vegas
Ratings: Language
The shop had taken on a new look since last visited by most of its customers. Gone were the heavy, velvet drapes that used to hang at the curved front windows and in the smaller panes of glass on the second floor. Sunlight streamed into all corners of the two-story shop, illuminating flecks of dust in the air. Every pull chain lamp in the place was lit, too. A front cabinet stood empty, its crystals redistributed to high places. Bowls and pedestals overflowed with formations: nuummite for opening the third eye, fire agate for eliminating destructive desires, shungite for psychic protection, tibetan quartz for positive energy, and apophyllite for recognizing truth.
James wasn’t much of a crystal guy, but everything had its time.
When the bell on the door rang, he was crouching on the floor with a thick piece of chalk. Dust was on his hands and pant legs, hair in his eyes. Black Sabbath’s ‘Children of the Grave’ filtered from a set of speakers mounted in the eaves of the second floor as he mapped out a prototype drawing for a symbol of light.
“I like what you’ve done with the place.” Phanuel eased into the store, unsure of the effect any warding would have on her. It stood to reason that Hutchins might ward the store against supernatural threats, or install an early detection device. Thankfully no netting scooped her up from the floor and hoisted her in the air. (Perhaps her overactive imagination could be blamed on watching the Scooby Doo Where Are You? Marathon on Nick Plus earlier in the morning.) “Good choice in music too.”
James got to his feet and rolled the piece of chalk in his fingers, looking between Phanuel and the sketch on the floor. “They’re no Van Morrison,” he said, a smile in the corner of his mouth. That image was going to stick for a while. He took a long step over the sketch and put his drawing implement on the counter. “You don’t see this a lot. Christians in an occult shop, unless they’re handing out free Bibles. That you do see.”
He pointed to a cardboard box by the door. It was stuffed with church flyers and pocket Bibles, invitations to teen praise camps, high gloss photos of people swaying in rapture. Someone had written ‘free to a good home’ in marker on the top flap.
“What brings you by?” James grabbed an old shop towel and wiped off his hands.
Phanuel waved her hands in mock surrender. “Christian by birth, cynic by choice.” It’s not like she wanted people to follow religion like a lost puppy, waiting for their master to tell them to sit, or pray. “I’d be lying if this was a social call,” she continued. Hutchins knew her well enough, that she never did anything ‘social’ on purpose. “You want the long story, or the short version?”
“Depends how good it is,” he said. “Actually,” reconsidering, “I owe you one. Whatever you said to Celeste made her feel better, so take as long as you want.” He didn’t feel like standing near the counter the whole time, so he went to the front door, flipped the ‘be right back sign’, and latched the door. A conversation with Phanuel didn’t need to be overheard by a college student who binge-watched the Chilling Adventures of Sabrina over the weekend. He turned off the music and gestured for Phanuel to follow him to a pair of comfortable chairs by the books. James took a load off in a threadbare one in moss green. The fabric wasn’t what it used to be. It reminded him of an old school lint remover.
The Angel adjusted her garb before taking the seat opposite. She appreciated Hutchins’ discretion in this matter.
“I’m glad she’s feeling better,” Phanuel responded. “I li-- don’t mind her. And she can hold her vodka.” She absently picked at her coat. It was tough for her to ask for help; even in Heaven, she was one of the go-to angels when He wasn’t available. “As for why I’m here,” she continued, “how much do you know about an entity named Elfleda?”
James frowned and rubbed his chin. He sifted through his memories for a name like that, or one that sounded similar. “Not ringing any bells. Why?” He sank deeper into his chair, a shaft of sunlight falling across his knees. The radiant heat was warm and he was struck by how strange it was to feel light in that cavern of a space.
“Long version then.” Phanuel pushed back into the chair, settling herself to tell Hutchins what she knew. “Elfleda is, well… for lack of a better term, a piece of shit. A powerful son of a bitch. She’s an extra dimensional being that corrupts those she comes into contact. A snake oil saleswoman peddling darkness. And apparently this… Emissary of the Black Light’s got her tendrils in an acquaintance’s wife.” She found herself tripping over that word. Wife. She never thought of vampires as the settling down type. “And I’ve agreed to exorcise this creature’s influence.”
James came forward in his seat and pushed his hair back off his forehead, the delivery of bad news souring his mood. When he was done pulling his hair, he balled his hands into fists under his chin and stared at the floor. “That’s the second time this month that word’s come up. Emissary. Who do you think all this is for?” He gestured at the festival of lights. It wasn’t for the ambiance.
Now he considered how much to tell her.
“Yeah. I learned about her when I was a kid. My mom was living in Arizona. She’s a psychic. She got involved in these spiritual cleansings, I dunno, I thought it was all bullshit,” he admitted, “But then she saw the Emissary in a couple of dreams. Maybe she was warning her off. I never got the full story, but she wasn’t the same afterward. Then this kid came in here about a week and a half ago. He had one of those rocks in his pocket. You know?” James waited to see if Phanuel knew about summoning stones. “He wanted to know if it was broken, like she wasn’t answering him.”
“Jesus Christ, he had an actual summoning stone?” Phanuel let it sink in that Hutchins knew what she was up against. Not that she’d ask him to join her in this errand; it would be bad enough once Elfleda got wind of her. She wasn’t going to put innocents in harm’s way.
The Angel continued. “I’m glad you’re warding up. She’s motherfucking dangerous.”
She leaned forward conspiratorially in her chair, as if lowering the volume of her voice would act as sufficient suppressant in case the Emissary found a way to listen in. “This woman I’m trying to help. She’s been infected. It’s possible to expunge Elfleda, but it’s going to take more juice than I’m capable of generating. I’m going to need help.” Phanuel pointed her right index finger to the sky. “From home. I need to tap into some serious Angel shit. The family won’t be happy when they realize what I’m doing.”
James leaned closer, too. “If your family’s got a problem with this, you should make some changes. Unless you think a priest’s going to knock down that door and save the day,” he said, pointing to the entrance. James maintained eye contact with Phanuel and waited. Save for a truck rolling by, nothing happened. They could wait a liturgical year and nothing would happen.
“Rules like these were meant to be broken,” the warlock said. “What do you need from me?”
The Angel cleared her throat. “I severed my connection with Heaven … a thousand years ago, give or take a few centuries. In order to access that kind of energy, I need a dowsing rod. Something that can detect and act as a conduit between me and home. And I may need someone to watch my back while I’m driving out this devil.”
Phanuel spread her palm out, and flashed three gold coins. “Whatever the cost, I’m willing to pay.”
He had a sharp memory of Celeste trying to pay him to fix her broken ribs. Another, deeper back, of his mother in fetal position beside an empty kitchen pot, the front of her nightgown soaked. James gripped the arms of his chair and stood up. “Keep your coins. You know I’ve got your back.”
He thumbed towards the staircase and jogged up the flight to the loft. “Up here.” The air was hotter on the second floor, the air conditioning struggling to keep up. The space was cramped with shelving, each one full of bins and drawers. James went to the back and reached up high for an old box. “We doing wood or metal?” he asked, hauling it down and setting it on a wide table.
“Wood,” Phanuel replied. “Heaven is old school.” She moved towards the table, careful not to knock over any bins. “You may not accept my money, Hutchins, but please accept my debt. I’m asking again for much, and I haven’t always been kind about it. For that, I’m sorry.”
James paused in digging through the box, buried up to the wrists in archaic items, most of them soft. “Apology’s a strange look on you,” he said, evaluating Phanuel. “Anyway, it’s not needed. But I appreciate it.” He removed the forked branch of witch hazel and held it up to the light, checking it over for damage. “What I’ll take is the benefit of the doubt. If you’re handing it out.” James offered the divination tool to the angel. It wouldn’t hurt to have Phanuel vouching for him. Never knew when a thing like that would come in useful.
“It fits as well as a David Byrne suit.” She didn’t wait for Hutchins’ reaction before she continued. “You’re one of the few I trust. Benefit of the doubt is yours.”
Phanuel opened her satchel and removed a piece of folded cloth. She pulled on the corners and unfurled the fabric, then placed the branch into the cloth and carefully wrapped it. She placed the satchel on the corner of the table and opened the flap. The dowsing rod was secured in the bag, and then was slung over the Angel’s shoulder. “Meant to say. Henry? You could do worse. Don’t do worse.”
“Thought you said you trusted me.” James arched a brow at the angel and replaced the lid on the box. He hefted it back onto its spot atop a shelf and nudged it all the way back. His hands came away sticky with dust. “You know where I am.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked on the flat heels of his boots. If Phanuel called on him, he’d be there. If not, life was nothing if not a series of ‘next times’.